


Wolf Pact

by dizzyDG



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:42:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 146,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzyDG/pseuds/dizzyDG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joffrey Baratheon is killed during the riots at King's Landing. In response, Tywin Lannister rides into the heart of the northern camp to strike a deal with Robb Stark. Eight years later, it is time for the Young Wolf to deliver on the hardest part of the bargain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Pact

**Author's Note:**

> POV's will alternate between Robb and Myrcella chapter to chapter. There will likely be an odd interlude with Jaime and/or Cersei's POV's, but no one else. 
> 
> This is also being simultaneously published on fanfiction.net, under the same name.

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

Robb was grim faced as he pushed the canvas entrance of his tent aside and emerged into the faint morning light. There were few other early risers, likely most of his men were still sleeping off their revelry from the night before. They had been in high spirits this past week, not that he could blame them. The news of Joffrey’s death had not been expected, but for once the shock had been a good one. Robb himself had laughed and raised a flagon in the immediate aftermath of the news. They had the Kingslayer caged and now his bastard son was dead, trampled in riots at the Capitol. Sansa had been present but unharmed, that is what the letter had read anyway. That was the first letter, hurriedly written and unsigned. It was the second letter that had soured his mood, the letter sealed with a lion and signed by Tywin Lannister himself.

He wanted to treat, or so he said. He was coming from the Capitol and into the heart of Robb’s camp to treat with him personally. His lords had been beside themselves with glee but Robb was more cautious. Wary. He didn’t trust them. How could he after everything that had happened? The Lannisters had crippled his brother, put his father’s head on a spike and held his sisters captive ever since. Now he was supposed to treat with Lord Lannister himself, the new bastard King’s new Hand. Robb’s own crown was set atop his dark auburn curls, he despised the weight of it but his lords had insisted. He fidgeted with his hands, straightening his doublet and throwing a look of contempt towards the Kingslayer’s cage. The man was dishevelled and almost entirely unrecognisable from the polished, arrogant knight who had sauntered about Winterfell with a disdainful look adorning his face all that time ago.

Robb knew that whatever deal Tywin had for him, it would likely include the Kingslayer’s release. Half his lords had told him to put his head on a spike in retaliation for his father. Lord Karstark in particular would love to deal the blow himself after his sons had been slaughtered at the hands of their Lannister prisoner. He had refused then because of his sisters, because he had no idea what they would do to them if he sent them the Kingslayer’s head in a box. His mother had begged him already to offer up an exchange. Jaime Lannister for Sansa and Arya. He couldn’t do it, not even for his sisters could he afford to release the Kingslayer. He wanted better terms. Justice for his father. Freedom for the North, and peace for its people. He wondered what the price for those terms would be as a shout came up from one of the periphery guards that a party bearing lion sigils was approaching.

He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as the faint sound of hooves against hardened ground reached his ears. There had been a frost again. Winter was indeed coming, and coming quickly. All Robb wanted now was to be back at Winterfell before the snows took hold, to bundle his family up and never let them leave the North again. He felt a presence at his side and turned his head slightly to see his squire stood at his side. Olyvar offered him a weak smile and he did his best to return it. “I’ve set out a flagon of the good wine, your Grace,” he informed him and Robb nodded slightly. “Thank you,” he said, his voice stiffer than he intended it to be. Olyvar didn’t seem offended though, he merely clasped his hands in front of him and waited at his side for the banners to come into view.

They did in the end, as though in slow motion. Robb swallowed hard as his eyes found the man at the helm of the party. There were only a hundred men, Robb’s own army could kill them all in minutes. Tywin was putting all his trust in the famed Stark honour, and it was only the thought of how disappointed his father would be in him that was stopping Robb from disregarding it. _“I will kill them all.”_ That is what he had promised his mother. Justice for his father. Vengeance some might call it, but Robb lusted for it regardless. Joffrey was dead now, that was what his mother had kept reminding him in her soothing tones the night before when neither of them had been able to sleep. Joffrey was dead. The smug little prick who had murdered his father was dead. That was the main thing. Now they needed the girls back, to lay his father to rest with dignity in the vaults of Winterfell.

Robb took another deep breath as Tywin pulled on the reins of his horse, pulling it to a halt before dismounting with the grace of a man half his age. Instinctively Robb drew himself up taller, his jaw set and his eyes fixed on the approaching man. He refused to look afraid. He refused to appear green to this man who had years of experience that he could never hope to match. Robb was no fool. He knew damn well that he was no match for Tywin, but he had to hold his own and broker a deal for the North. Freedom. Independence. Was that really too much to ask for? No one south of the border had any desire to have dealings with them anyway. They didn’t understand the northern ways with their favourable weather and their different Gods. The south was polished where the North was wild and ever so different. Torrhen may have knelt to dragons once upon a time, but Robb was stood here now with a crown atop his head, and he _refused_ to kneel to a lion.

“Robb Stark, King in the North,” Tywin greeted him with a slight sneer, his tone almost sounded mocking but Robb could not be sure about it. “Lord Lannister,” he returned coldly, inclining his head slightly as the man did the same to him. “Let us not stand on ceremony and treat one another with false courtesies. I am here to treat, to end this ridiculous war and secure the Iron Throne for my grandson,” Tywin said.

“Then let us treat,” Robb gestured back towards his tent and Tywin let his cold eyes linger on him for a long moment before he swept passed and into the space. Robb exchanged a grim look with Olyvar before stamping his way after him. If he had it his way then he would have had his lords present for this, but Tywin had insisted that he would treat with him and him alone. Gods. He hoped he would be able to hold his own against this man. Robb may well despise him and all who bear his name, but that did not mean he was not an intimidating presence that he would be far happier to avoid. “I ought to congratulate you, your performance at Whispering Wood was inspired,” Tywin drawled as he helped himself to the wine that Olyvar had left out on the table. Robb had to bite his tongue to stop from thanking the man. He was irked. This was not how he had imagined this meeting going.

“I won’t bend the knee,” he said instead, picking up the flagon that Tywin had just set down, seeing the man’s brows raise slightly. “I didn’t expect you to,” Tywin replied after swilling the wine in his cup and drinking a long sip from it. “You would be a fool to,” the older man continued. “You are in an enviable position, young Stark. Even without Joffrey’s death you would have been a force to be reckoned with.” Again Robb found himself wanting to thank him and he frowned slightly, wishing he wasn’t being so complimentary. It was unnerving, and it only served to make Robb suspect that some terms would be laid out that he would be less than satisfied with.

“I want my father’s body brought back to Winterfell with all the dignity your grandson didn’t show him,” Robb said venomously, and Tywin inclined his head. “I want his sword back, the one used to murder him,” he continued, and again Tywin inclined his head. “I will keep my throne, the North will not be answerable to the southern Kingdoms, and neither will the Riverlands,” Robb went on, deciding to push his luck, suspicion creeping ever further into him as Tywin again inclined his head. “My sisters will be returned to me,” he finished, “and the North will be left in peace.”

“Fine,” Tywin uttered the one word in an utterly bored tone. “Now, I will tell you what I want,” he continued and Robb inclined his own head to encourage him to speak. “I want aid in dispatching Stannis and Renly,” Tywin began, “I want an alliance between the North and the southern Kingdoms; you will aid us should we need it and in return we will aid you should you need it. We will still supply men to the Wall, as it is not just the North it protects. We will have a free trade agreement and keep the same coinage.”

Robb nodded his head, all of that he could agree with, but he had a feeling that Tywin wasn’t finished. “You will release Jaime,” his eyes bored into him and Robb stared back for a long moment before he inclined his head. “I will release your son when both my sisters are returned to me in this camp,” Robb told him, and for the first time the older man looked uneasy. “What?” Robb snarled, his hand clenching around the stem of his wine cup. “Lady Sansa will be returned to you with all haste should our agreement be finalized,” Tywin said, “but the Lady Arya has been missing from the Capitol since the death of your father.”

“What do you mean, _missing_?” Robb demanded dangerously, his voice shaking slightly. “We have had men scouring the country for her but she has not been found,” Tywin explained, “but rest assured once we are allied and the agreement known, a substantial reward will be offered for her safe return. I will provide the gold myself.” From anyone else it would have sounded like a generous offer of help, but hearing it from him just made Robb want to pull his sword and slit the man’s throat. “The Kingslayer stays with me until _both_ my sisters are returned to me,” Robb told him, his eyes flashing as they met his. “Very well,” he sighed tiredly, “but can I request that he at least be kept according to his status?”

“And what status would that be? Knight of the Kingsguard? Or the lowlife scum who crippled my brother because he caught him fucking his own sister?” Robb asked in a venomous tone, seeing Tywin’s expression darken for a moment. “That is a disgusting lie dreamt up by Stannis Baratheon because he wants to usurp his own nephew’s rightful claim to the throne, do you understand me?” his tone was quiet but Robb could hear the threat in it well enough. Even so he refused to answer, or even incline his head the slightest fraction. “And to prove that the free and independent North does not believe such filth, you will take my granddaughter as your queen,” Tywin snapped and Robb’s eyes widened to such a degree that he imagined they might fall out of his head.

“I am already betrothed to the daughter of Walder Frey,” he told him. Never before had he been grateful to his mother for making that deal but he was thanking her over and over in his head now. “Walder Frey,” Tywin chuckled dismissively, “I will throw enough gold at Walder Frey that he may well drown in it. You will be released from your betrothal to his ah, _charming_ , daughter, and you will marry Myrcella when she comes of age. That is my price for your independence, Stark. Now what do you say? Agree to the match and end this war, return to the North a hero and a King, or continue on with it and risk your own life, the life of your sisters and your entire family, and send thousands of your men to a death which you could have saved them from? What’s it to be, Stark?”

Robb said nothing, raising his wine cup to his lips as his heart pounded wildly in his chest. How could he agree to this? Agree to marry a girl who was the bastard product of incest who was being dressed up as a royal princess. A Frey girl was one thing, but this? Tywin was eyeing him, though he said nothing else as Robb’s head and heart raced unbearably quickly. What choice did he have? How could he live with sending thousands of men to their graves, leaving their wives widows and their children without a father? How could he do that when the end of the war was standing right in front of him? How could he do that when one word of agreement from him would end this now and have them on their way home to Winterfell within a fortnight?

He closed his eyes in despair. Myrcella Baratheon was a child, he barely remembered her from Winterfell, only a vague memory of her being there in the stands watching when Bran and Tommen had sparred together. He didn’t remember ever speaking to her, or ever looking at her. She was a child. Gods. If he agreed to this he would be waiting years for a wedding to a girl who would no doubt spend the entirety of those years being poisoned against him and his family by her bitch of a mother. What chance of happiness would they have? He didn’t even know if he would be able to tolerate her name, live with the fact that his wife and mother of his children was part of a family he despised. Sister to the tyrant who had ordered the death of his father. But what choice did he have? He would never be able to sleep at night knowing that he had thrown away the chance of peace. Thrown away the one opportunity to get everything he had fought for handed to him. Everything and more, so it seemed.

“Fine,” he uttered the word before he could think any more about it. He had years to get used to the idea of marrying the girl. Years to come to terms with it and think of some way that he could tolerate her, and at least try and live in some kind of harmony with her. “Good,” Tywin nodded curtly, “I will have the terms drawn up if you give me leave to use your tent.” Robb could only nod faintly, his head spinning as he thought on what he had just agreed to. The lords would be beside themselves, his mother would be more relieved than he had words for. They were going home. Finally, they were going home, a Lannister queen the price for safe passage and independence. “I’ll be out with the men, have my squire send for me when it’s done,” Robb said faintly as he wandered aimlessly out of the tent, not even waiting for Tywin’s agreement.

“Your Grace!” the Greatjon hailed him and Robb looked in his direction to see that all his lords had seemingly gathered in a huddle just waiting for him to emerge. “Is it done?” Lord Flint asked him, all their eyes wide as they waited for him to relay the news. “We have our independence, and a peaceful agreement with the southern Kingdoms,” they looked speechless as he delivered the news, wide eyed and doubtless waiting for him to continue. “We will aid them in quelling the rebellions from Stannis and Renly, and they will aid us in turn should we ever need it,” he went on in a dull tone, “and when Princess Myrcella comes of age, I will take her as my queen.”

If they had been puzzled by his lack of enthusiasm before then he imagined from the looks on their faces that they understood it well enough now. “A Lannister queen,” Lord Karstark uttered the words almost like a curse and Robb sighed heavily. “It wasn’t negotiable. It was that or continue this war, losing lives unnecessarily. If I can live with it,” he took a deep breath and tried to convince himself that that was true. “If I can live with it,” he repeated, “then you all most certainly can.” Lord Karstark nodded grimly at his words, the Greatjon’s hand coming to slap reassuringly against his shoulder. “It could be worse lad,” his hardened general said gruffly, “at least you know you’ll be getting a looker.”

Robb tried to smile, but he would not have been surprised to hear it described as a grimace. His gaze swept over the Lannister party who were being given a wide berth by the slowly wakening camp, his eyes narrowing as they set on the lion sigil fluttering in the breeze. “Aye, no dour Frey for queen,” one of the Cerwyns jeered, and again Robb tried to smile. He knew they were trying to cheer him and he was grateful for it, but it was not something he wanted to hear right now. Right now he was quietly mourning his soon to be broken betrothal to the dour Frey girl. He had never even had a name for her, let alone a face, but at least he had the comfort of knowing that he wouldn’t despise her. “If you’ll excuse me, my lords, I need to speak with my mother,” he finally said, turning away from them as they murmured their agreements.

On his way to his mother’s tent he tried to find the words in his mind to break the news to her that Arya was not held at the Capitol, and had not been for some time. She would be heartbroken, her emotions no doubt as conflicted as Robb’s own were right now. All of a sudden he felt selfish for lamenting his new betrothal when his mother would soon be suffering the agony of not knowing where one of her children was. Whether they were alive or dead. He shook his head as he approached, it would do no good to think the worst. If anyone could survive the wilds then it was Arya, he was almost certain of that. He took a calming breath before he called out to his mother, determining to be as positive as possible in her presence. She called for him to come in and he did as she bid him, her eyes looking expectantly at him as he entered.

“You have finished treating already?” she asked with wide eyes and he nodded his head, forcing a smile to his face. “It’s good news mother,” he said, “mostly, at least.” Her brow creased at that as she stood up and came closer to him, her hand finding his. “Mostly?” she repeated, her grip on his hand tightening almost painfully. “Sansa will be returned to us, and father’s body. The North will have its independence and a peace with the southern Kingdoms,” he reeled off, seeing her brow furrow even more. “Arya?” her voice was barely more than a whisper and he swallowed hard before answering. “She has not been at the Capitol since father was killed,” he confessed to her and she gasped, her nails pinching into the back of his hand as her other hand came up to cover her mouth. “Where is she?!” she asked almost desperately but Robb could only shake his head.

“I don’t know mother, I wish I did,” he said, “but…listen…the Kingslayer will remain our prisoner until she has been found. I will not release him until Arya is back with us, Tywin Lannister is offering a great reward. She _will_ be returned to us, I know it.” His tone was fierce by the end and she nodded faintly, her eyes still shining with tears as he looked down on her, inwardly pleading that she would believe him and be reassured. “Tywin Lannister is doing all that,” she frowned, “why? What does he gain from it? He must want more than the Kingslayer’s release, Robb?”

“He wants the North to aid him in dealing with Stannis and Renly,” he told her, but still she was frowning at him. “There’s more,” she guessed astutely, “what is it you aren’t telling me?” She was suspicious now and sounded almost impatient with him, and so he sighed, knowing he would have to tell her the truth. “I will marry Princess Myrcella when she comes of age,” he confessed, seeing the look of dismay cross her features. “The Freys?” she tried weakly and he shook his head. “Tywin has enough gold for them as well,” he said bitterly and she squeezed his hand, her eyes soft and sympathetic. “It is not the worst thing that could have happened,” she said, her tone falsely bright. He could only snort in response and her hands came to his upper arms, forcing him to look at her.

“It is not,” she repeated, her eyes holding his fast. “She was always such a sweet and polite girl when she was at Winterfell. She and Tommen were meek and proper, and not at all entitled nor pompous the way Joffrey was.” Robb wished he could take comfort from her words, but it was hard for him to see anything other than a bleak future. “Time changes things,” he said stonily, “I imagine Cersei Lannister was once a perfectly pleasant young girl. You can bet anything that she will not be endearing her daughter to me, I can’t imagine us ever being anything other than miserable. Perhaps we will be able to tolerate one another, if we are lucky.”

“It may not be a love match,” his mother soothed him, “but that does not mean it cannot work. I know it will be hard being bound to that family, but you need to have a little faith Robb. There is no point you thinking the worst of Myrcella before you have spent any time with her. I imagine it will be many years before she is sent from the Capitol, you have plenty of time to get used to the idea. Perhaps you could write to her?” her suggestion at the end was a hopeful one, and one that had Robb rolling his eyes at her. “You really think any letter I write will find its way into her hands?” he questioned her and she sighed heavily. “I suppose you may have a point there,” she conceded and he smiled wryly. “You think?” he raised a brow and she gave him a stern look. “You may be a man grown and a king, but that does not mean you can speak to your mother in such a derisive manner,” she scolded him and a real smile twitched his lips.

“There is no chance of me being corrupted by my own sense of grandeur and entitlement with you around to guide me mother,” he smirked, “perhaps I should assign you a seat on my council?” She smacked his shoulder lightly at that, a smile threatening her own lips. “Don’t cheek me, Robb Stark,” her tone was stern again but he could hear the underlying amusement and it kept the smile on his lips. “Forgive me mother, I ought to know better at my age,” he said and she smiled, smoothing a crease in his doublet and gazing at him in that searching way that only a mother could. “I know you are sacrificing your own personal happiness for the good of this family, Robb, and I swear to you, I will never forget it for as long as I live. You have made your father even prouder today, I know it.”

“Thank you,” he nodded, his throat feeling rather constricted as he had to look away from her gaze. “You’re welcome,” she said softly, just as Olyvar’s voice drifted through the canvas of her tent. “That was quick,” Robb muttered, and his mother looked at him quizzically as he called to Olyvar that he would only be a moment. “I have to sign the agreement,” he explained to her and she nodded her head, her cheeks paling. “Be sure,” she advised him and he nodded. “I am,” he tried to sound convincing. “I have to be,” he shrugged his shoulders before he left the tent, not lingering long enough to allow her to find any more comforting words for him. He walked in silence through the camp with Olyvar at his side, seeing his lords give him encouraging nods and weak smiles as he passed by them.

He mentally steeled himself before he marched right into his tent, seeing Tywin stood at the head of the table waiting for him. “Let’s get this over with,” Tywin said, holding out a quill to him. Robb stepped forward and took it, turning the parchment so it faced him and reading through each word of it. He heard an impatient huff, but he read on, unwilling to sign anything until he was certain that Tywin was not trying to dupe him. When he reached the end he was grudgingly satisfied, everything that they had verbally agreed upon was written down and he knew he had no choice but to sign. Slowly he dipped the quill into the inkpot before moving it to the bottom of the parchment. He swallowed hard before he quickly scrawled his name, handing the quill to Tywin without even looking at him and hearing him scratch out his own mark.

“I’m sure your squire can add the seals,” Tywin said, glancing towards Olyvar who nodded briskly. “Of course my lord, your Grace,” Olyvar bowed shortly to both of them before he moved around the tent to begin melting the wax. Robb watched him for a moment before he fixed his eyes on Tywin. “Now what?” he asked heavily, and the older man scrutinized him for a long moment. “I will see my son,” Tywin stated, “and then I will return to the Capitol and arrange for Lady Sansa to be transported here.” Robb nodded his agreement at that, watching Olyvar dribbling the melted wax onto their signed agreement. “I suppose we will have to coordinate, to deal with Stannis and Renly,” Robb said grudgingly, and it was Tywin’s turn to nod his head. “Indeed,” he agreed, “we will act as swiftly as we possibly can, at least try and make this as painless as possible.”

“Once they are dealt with I will be returning to the North, I hope, with Arya in tow,” Robb said, his eyes meeting Tywin’s as he spoke. “We all want the matter dealt with as soon as possible,” he said, “that way we need not have any dealings with one another beyond what is necessary. At least, not until it comes time for Myrcella to make her journey north.”

“Indeed,” Robb said tersely, watching Olyvar carefully rolling up the agreement. Tywin held his hand out for it but Robb took it before he could, seeing the surprise in the older man’s eyes. “I will keep this, and have a copy made. We will sign it again when _you_ escort Sansa here,” Robb said, and for a second he thought he saw a grudging admiration in the older man’s eyes. “Very well,” he agreed heavily, turning to make his way to the entrance. “Until next time,” Tywin paused as he pulled back the flap, his eyes looking Robb up and down for a moment; “your Grace.”


	2. I: Winter is Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set eight years after the prologue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to those of you who have left comments and kudos. It is much appreciated. Hope you like the new chapter, and a happy new year to you all!
> 
> :)

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

 

Myrcella leant her forehead against the windowpane and sighed heavily. Her mother’s voice was growing shriller by the second and it was beginning to give her a headache. They had been going on and on for what felt like hours, and still they hadn’t managed to agree on a single thing. She was just about ready to stand up and scream, perhaps then they would actually remember that she was in the room. That it was her future they were debating. Neither of them would have to journey to the North. Neither of them would have to marry a man who would no doubt despise every fibre of their being. They wouldn’t have to be his wife. They would have to bear his children. Bear his coldness. She closed her eyes despairingly. In previous years she had tried to delude herself into believing that it wouldn’t be that bad. That he might be soft. Kind. It had been a child’s fantasy. The King in the North was a hardened warrior. He had killed more men than she could even comprehend, with his snarling direwolf at his side.

She had read all the stories she could get her hands on when the wars were finally done with. When the Young Wolf had finally returned to Winterfell, his sword sheathed once more. She had pored over them in the dead of night when she was supposed to be sleeping. Her mother would never even utter the name of the man she was promised to, Myrcella knew well enough that she would never tell her anything about him. She craved the knowledge though. She _needed_ to know something of the man that she would be bound to for the rest of her days, or the rest of his. Whichever came first. She lost herself in the words on the pages, let her imagination get caught up in the images that had been so skilfully drawn. The King in the North had become legend already, and he had only just reached four and twenty. He was desired by any woman who laid eyes on him, so Etta had told her in hushed giggles on occasions where Myrcella had fallen into a fit of anxiety over her future. _“He is the most handsome man, and you are the most beautiful woman. You will be perfect together.”_

Myrcella knew her handmaiden meant well, but she could see it in Etta’s eyes that she believed the words no more than Myrcella did. It was something she wanted to be true, not something she ever imagined coming to fruition. Robb Stark was a man. A warrior. A King. A King who despised her family, though Myrcella privately thought that it was not without good reason. She still dreamt of Lord Eddard Stark sometimes. Felt his warm hand on her shoulder, the way his grey eyes had twinkled when he’d looked down on her. She shook her head. Thinking of him only made her long to believe that his son was just as kindly, that he would be just as warm and kind to her. How could he be? After what her family had done? It seemed impossible, and likely it was. Myrcella just prayed that if he could not be kind then at least he would not be cruel. She hoped that one day he might be able to tolerate her, grow to find himself content with their union. Perhaps if she bore him strong children he would soften…

“The agreement was for Myrcella to go when she reached eight and ten! Not now!” her mother’s furious screech pulled her mind from her uncertain future. She turned from the window, seeing her mother and grandfather standing opposite each other, mere feet between them. Her mother’s stance was protective, and yet somehow utterly intimidating at the same time. She imagined a lesser man would have quelled. Her grandfather was not that man though. “Winter is coming again,” her grandfather said calmly, but with unmistakable authority in his voice. “If it lasts six years as the last did, then Myrcella will not be able to travel. We will have failed on our end of the bargain and I do not doubt that Stark will jump at the chance to choose an alternative bride,” he continued.

“Good!” her mother snapped, and Myrcella untucked her legs from underneath her, swinging them down so they touched the floor. “It is not good, Cersei,” her grandfather sounded quietly furious now. “The North is an independent kingdom, and it is thriving as such. We need to strengthen ties with them and this is the best way to do it. Myrcella will be queen, and the next king to rule the North will have Lannister blood in their veins. There is no more to be discussed on this matter, Myrcella leaves in two days, and that is final.”

Her mother made an angry noise but threw no retort at her grandfather. He seemed satisfied that there would be no more argument, casting a look towards Myrcella and nodding curtly at her before he turned on his heel and marched from the room. Her mother began muttering furiously at once, but Myrcella was in no mood to try and catch what she was saying. What she really wanted to do was slip from her presence and find Etta. If she really was set to leave for her new life in the North in a mere two days then she would have to begin packing away her things. She swallowed hard. Gods. She was not ready for this, she had thought she had another year here at the Capitol with her family. With Tommen. She blinked her eyes furiously, refusing to show any upset here in front of her mother. Her tears would only make things worse, cause more arguments. She stood up soundlessly, picking up her skirts slightly before making her way towards the door.

“Myrcella,” her mother’s sharp voice stopped her in her tracks and she took a deep breath before she turned to face her, hoping her expression was neutral. “Yes, mother?” she inquired politely, hoping she sounded suitably unaffected. “Sit down,” her mother instructed, and she did as she was bid, crossing to take the seat by the fire that was indicated to her. “It seems you are to go to the North sooner than anticipated,” her mother told her, as though she had not heard what had transpired mere moments before. “Yes, mother,” she said calmly, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “You’re not a stupid girl, Myrcella,” her mother met her eyes, holding them fast. “You know what Robb Stark is, you know how he feels about the Lannister name.” Myrcella held her tongue, deciding it was probably best not to contradict her mother by reminding her that she was named Baratheon. “Yes, mother,” she said instead.

“He is little more than a savage,” her mother’s voice came out as a venomous hiss, “and likely he will treat you little better than a whore. Whatever he forces upon you, you will endure it. You are a lion, do you hear me?” Myrcella merely nodded in response, her mouth suddenly uncomfortably dry. “You will endure him taking his pleasure until he gets you with child,” her mother continued, “perhaps if you bear him a son it will grow easier for you. But hear me now, you must never, _ever_ show him any weakness. No tears. No affection.”

“No affection?” Myrcella repeated the words with a slight frown. She was not expecting any affection from her marriage, but surely if it were offered to her then she ought to reciprocate? Surely that could not be wrong. “If he thinks you care for him then he has power over you, more power than he will gain from visiting your bed night after night,” her mother said the words scathingly, looking at her as though she were stupid. _“Stupid, stupid child. What have I told you?!”_ She shook her head slightly, forcing herself to focus on the present, on her mother’s cold gaze. “Of course, mother,” she said automatically, digging her fingernails hard into the back of her hand. “Good,” her mother finally looked somewhat satisfied and Myrcella took a little breath of relief, hoping that she would now be allowed to leave. “May I be excused?” she asked after a moment. “I ought to begin arranging my things.”

“Yes, go on,” her mother said after scrutinizing her intensely for a long moment. “Thank you, mother,” Myrcella stood gracefully, dipping into the slightest of curtsies before she again made her way to the door. This time she wasn’t called back, and as soon as it closed behind her she picked up her pace and almost ran down the hallways towards her bedchamber. She thought of Tommen on the way, thought of leaving him behind here in this snake’s nest. As apprehensive as she was about the North, as frightened as she was about being married, a part of her could not help but be glad that she was finally leaving the Capitol. She had not done so since the visit to Winterfell all those years ago. She had loved it. Truly loved it. Memories of it flashed before her eyes, and before she could stop herself she was smiling as she remembered Bran and Tommen attempting to spar in the tiltyard. The smile faded from her face as she reached the door to her chamber. Yet another thing the Starks had reason to despise her family for.

 _“The North is a frozen wasteland overrun by savages.”_ Joffrey’s mocking voice rang in her ears as she let herself into her chamber, firmly closing the door behind her. It was cold in the North, that she could concede, but the people more than made up for it. They were warm. Friendly. They smiled at one another with genuine affection. They were informal. They laughed heartily and did not hold with all the grandeur and the pomp and ceremony that they did here at the Capitol. At least, that was how it was before. She wondered if it had changed. There had been a war. Then another. Just when they had thought it was done with, when her uncles’ heads adorned spikes, just when they thought they were safe the dragons came. She had seen the fires from the windows. They had come so close, but the North made good on their word and they had come again. Saving them. Dragonslayer. Yet another name the King in the North had earned. It was not done without injury though, they said he would be scarred for life after the encounter.

Myrcella had thought he might come to the Capitol once it was done, he was so very close after all. He hadn’t come. He had taken his men and turned back for Winterfell once more. That had been two years into the winter, before the snows had truly set in and the roads became impassable. She had been two and ten, and disappointed despite herself. The Northern lords had insisted on taking the head of the dragon back with them, hauling it along despite how it slowed them down. They wanted a souvenir; that is what her grandfather had told her when she plucked up the courage to ask. And why shouldn’t they? There were not many men who could claim their king had slain a dragon. Myrcella idly wondered whether the King in the North still regaled his lords and his court with the tale. If he revelled in the nickname that had been bestowed upon him, or whether it was tedious to him, as her Uncle Jaime’s was to him.

She sighed, sinking down to sit at the end of her bed, her mind still casting back to the time of all the troubles. After the dragons they truly had all thought that it was it. That they could get on and endure the rapidly worsening winter in peace. It was not to be. Not four moons after the end of the dragons it was the turn of the North to call for aid. Myrcella distinctly remembered her mother scornfully telling her grandfather to leave them to fight their own battles. He had been livid. Her mother had been drunk. She and Tommen had slipped away in the end, but they had both heard more than enough. _“The Wall protects us all, and the alliance with the North must hold!”_ So to the Wall he marched over a hundred thousand men, through snow and ice and biting winds. They had already battled the elements and when they finally reached their destination their reward was to battle death.

And so they did. It was one part of the story of the Young Wolf that Myrcella was happy never to read in great detail. She knew little, and she was glad of her own enforced ignorance. What she did know chilled her. The dead walking. Killing. Animating those who fell to fight against their former friends and allies. Fire did for some of them. But for others the only weapons that could repel them were made of old Valyrian steel or dragonglass. Myrcella remembered the image drawn in her book despite herself, the image that had stopped her from reading any further. Some nights it still haunted her dreams. The icy pale skin, the sunken features and, most prominent of all, the bright blue eyes that almost seemed to come alive on the page. She could not imagine facing such a thing in reality. Before she could stop herself she was remembering that the King in the North had eyes of blue. She shuddered involuntarily, inwardly begging that he would not be as cold as the monster from her nightmares.

“Myrcella?” the soft, uncertain tones of her brother accompanied the light tap on her door. She pulled herself together, hoping she would look completely unaffected and composed to him as she called for him to come in. “Tommen,” she smiled for him as he made his way into the room, closing the door behind him and fixing her with an apprehensive look. “Grandfather said that you are to go to the North sooner, since winter is threatening once more,” he said uncertainly, and she nodded her head in response. “Indeed,” she agreed, “it hardly seems fair that it is coming once more, we have barely had a full year of summer and already the leaves are falling.”

“If the summer was so short, then likely the winter will be too,” Tommen responded, taking a few more steps into the room. Myrcella nodded her agreement, patting the space next to her. He seemed to hesitate a moment before he crossed to sit with her. Her eyes flickered to him, seeing that he was staring straight ahead at the opposite wall. She adopted a similar stance, wondering what he was thinking. Wondering if he was dreading their separation as much as she was. Through all the bad times that had been endured, she and Tommen had always had one another. They laughed together. Cried together. Avoided Joffrey together. Tommen was six and ten now though, taking a more prominent role in ruling the southern kingdoms. Myrcella knew that he would never say it, but she couldn’t help but believe that her grandfather was quietly impressed with how well Tommen was learning. He was a fair and just king. A kind king. Just the kind of king that was needed after all the struggles and the battles.

He had wed a few moons beforehand, to Alysanne Bulwer. It was not an obvious match, one made to snub the Tyrells more than anything else. Mace had been pardoned after his treasonous support of their Uncle Renly, but it was by no means forgotten. Alysanne was a cousin of his line, so he could not make any complaint that his house was not being favoured. It was an open secret however, that he had wanted his own daughter to be queen rather than a distant relative. In Myrcella’s own opinion, which of course she would never voice, Tommen would likely be far happier with Alysanne. She was very pretty, and of his age. To Myrcella’s eye she always seemed gentle, and softly spoken, the perfect match for her kind-hearted brother. She knew her mother looked down on her, irritated that a richer and more prosperous match had not been found for him. Tommen was unaffected by her indifference, he walked with a new spring in his step and a smile on his face since his wedding. If only she could be so lucky.

“I’ll miss you,” he broke the silence, and she glanced to see him still staring straight at the wall. “I’ll miss you too, but you have Alysanne now to keep you company, I know you’ll be happy with her,” Myrcella replied to him, her own eyes looking down at her entwined hands. “You could be happy too,” he said hopefully, “Robb was always kind to us at Winterfell.” Myrcella smiled slightly at that, she had had little, if any, interaction with Robb Stark all those years ago. It was easy to assume the same of Tommen, but of course he had regularly frequented the tiltyard with the other boys. “I think you saw more of him than I ever did,” she commented, clenching her fists tightly to stop her hands from shaking. “Remember when…when Joffrey,” Tommen could still barely utter their brother’s name without stammering. “When he wanted us to use real steel, Bran and I?” he continued, and she nodded her head slightly in agreement. “Robb wouldn’t allow it, he said it wasn’t proper, that one of us could get hurt,” Tommen went on.

“Not many people ever refused Joffrey,” Myrcella conceded, feeling Tommen shift a little closer to her. In the next moment his arm wrapped around her shoulder and she leaned into him. “I know you must be frightened,” he said quietly, “and I know you must think that he will hate you, after everything that happened. But we are all allied now, and Joffrey’s sins were not ours, nor were Uncle Jaime’s. We did nothing wrong Myrcella. _You_ did nothing wrong, and if he believes that you did, then I am demanding now, as your King, that you put him right. You never let Joffrey best you, and you always looked after me, shielded me from him. Robb Stark is not Joffrey, you can handle him. I know you can.”

“They call him Dragonslayer,” Myrcella said wryly and Tommen snorted, squeezing her shoulder tightly. “Because he came to our aid, because he honoured the treaty he signed with grandfather. You were part of that pact, he will honour you as well,” Tommen sounded so certain that she almost believed him. She _ached_ to believe him. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said, hoping that her voice didn’t betray her inner scepticism. “Even if he wants to despise you he never could, not when he comes to know you,” he said, and she smiled slightly. “That’s just it, Tommen, what if he doesn’t want to know me?” she asked almost fearfully, lifting her head up from his shoulder so she could meet his eyes. “He will have no choice,” he said simply, a sad little smile on his own face. “No,” Myrcella agreed, saved from having to elaborate further by another knock on the door.

“Come,” she called out, perhaps it was best that her conversation with Tommen ended now. Perhaps it was best that she left him thinking that she was reassured and hopeful, instead of unburdening herself and revealing the true extent of her apprehension. Etta slipped around the door in the next moment, her grin faltering when her eyes found that Myrcella had company. “Your Grace, princess,” she curtseyed politely before them, keeping her eyes meekly on the floor when she rose back up. Myrcella couldn’t help but smirk, Etta did a wonderful impression of a demure and proper young woman when she wanted to. “I will leave you now,” Tommen said, a slightly regretful look in his eye as he unwound his arm from her shoulder. She missed the pressure instantly. The warmth. All too soon everything would be cold for her, and the dread was slowly creeping in further. “I will see you before…” Myrcella trailed off, unwilling and unable to speak the final words. Tommen merely nodded in response, inclining his head in Etta’s direction before he left the room.

“Has something happened?” Etta was wide eyed and crossing to her as soon as the door closed behind Tommen. “Winter is threatening again, and if it is doing so here it will most certainly be doing so in the North,” Myrcella said, seeing her handmaiden frown slightly. “Which means I will be going to Winterfell early, two days from now to be precise,” she elaborated, despising the shake that had crept into her voice. “Two days?” Etta repeated in a rather dazed manner, and Myrcella nodded her head, doing her best to smile. “I need to gather my things,” she said. It was not what she wanted to say, but if she began confessing her fears now then she was afraid she would never stop. Etta met her eyes for a long moment before she slowly nodded her head. Perhaps she understood. Perhaps she didn’t. Either way, Myrcella was glad that she was not pushing her on the subject. “Of course,” Etta said, “your warmest dresses I think, princess.”

Myrcella smiled her agreement, rising up from the end of the bed so she could approach her dressing room. Etta followed after her, and for a long minute both of them just stood and stared at the racks of clothing that lined the walls. Myrcella knew that she would likely never see the majority of these dresses again, let alone wear them. Even when summer came the North was still far colder than the Capitol. She moved closer to one of the dresses, her hand going to touch the pale green silk, her fingers savouring the feel of it as her touch moved along the neckline to toy with the creamy lace. Vaguely she wondered if she would ever wear silks and lace again. “You could still wear it,” Etta seemed to have read her mind, “though perhaps with thick underskirts and a cloak about your shoulders.” Imagining a heavy cloak around such a delicate and intricately made dress made Myrcella simultaneously want to laugh and cry.

“I wore it to Tommen’s wedding,” she said quietly, remembering how happy she had been in that dress as she had been twirled about during the dancing afterwards. She sighed, not wanting to taint her wonderful memories by taking it with her to the North. It was silly. It was only a dress after all, and yet to Myrcella, just touching it and seeing it before her was enough to transport her back to a happier time. “I don’t think I will have reason to wear it again,” she continued, finally letting go of the fabric. “You don’t know that,” Etta said kindly, and Myrcella summoned up all her strength before she turned around to face her. “I think I do,” she said, a slight smile forced to her lips. “Best we dig out my clothes from the last winter, could be that some of them still fit,” she said.

“Very well, princess, if you insist upon it,” Etta said heavily, “but I still think you should take that one, the King in the North would be unable to resist you in it.” Myrcella smiled wryly. She was grateful for Etta’s words, and grateful that she was trying to reassure her as Tommen had. Perhaps the King in the North would desire her in the dress, she was frequently regaled for her beauty. Desire was not the same as love however, nor even the same as caring. Men desired whores, and she knew well enough what the world thought of them. She closed her eyes and took a long breath, pushing unsavoury thoughts from her mind. “Thank you, Etta,” she said when she opened them again, “I appreciate your kindness, but I think it will take more than a pretty dress to make him forget who I am.”


	3. II: A King's Torment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you! I am so overwhelmed by how many of you left kudos!
> 
> Also, super big thanks to those who left comments as well. A question cropped up about POV's, so to answer that; the story will alternate between just Robb and Myrcella, though I will do the odd snippet from King's Landing which will be either Cersei or Jaime, though that will be a rare occurrence. 
> 
> Just thank you all so much for all the positive comments so far, I've never written this pairing before, let alone done anything in Myrcella's POV, so seeing such feedback is really encouraging!
> 
> Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter!
> 
> Oh, and one more thing, italics mean flashbacks, though I'm sure you would have figured that out ;)
> 
> :)

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

He stamped towards his tent as the light had grown too weak for them to continue on today. The men around him were grateful for the respite, already shouting about lighting fires and making food. Robb’s own stomach snarled with hunger but he easily ignored it. He didn’t much care if anyone brought him anything or not, he just wanted a cup of strong ale before he inevitably passed out on the makeshift bed. His mother would tell him he was pushing himself too hard. His mother wasn’t here though, that was part of the reason that he was. The people were praising him and his kindness, they didn’t have to know that he was here helping them gather the harvest for his own selfish reasons. He had started doing so around Winter Town at first, but that still meant retiring back to Winterfell at night, and being confronted with his mother’s sympathetic gaze. It had been the same ever since the letter from the Capitol had come, and Robb had reached the end of his tether.

In the end Robb had snapped, announcing his intention to go to Moat Cailin, and then Barrowtown, and finally, Torrhen’s Square, to help them gather the harvests. It was his duty as King to aid his people in such times; that is what he had told his mother anyway. She had seen right through him, and she had protested loudly in private. He had ignored her, and when it came time for him to leave she had had no choice but to wave him off with a smile along with the rest of them. Working all day out in the fields gave him something real to focus on, something which sitting behind his desk and perusing missives and signing documents could never give him. It allowed him to clear his mind entirely, whereas sitting in his father’s study would always have memories creeping in and finding him when he least expected it. Some of them were suffocating. Some of them made him smile. Most of them were not even memories, just anticipation of what was to come when _she_ arrived.

He wrenched the flap of his tent to the side and stamped in, moving to the basin in the corner. The water was freezing cold but it would serve him well enough. He splashed it over his face, which was no doubt covered in dirt again, before he turned his attention to scrubbing under his fingernails. Vaguely he wondered if he would ever manage to get them perfectly clean again. Almost as quickly he realised that he didn’t care. A drink was his focus now, almost as he thought it a call came from the other side of the canvas. It was his new squire, Billy, and he deposited a plate of simple looking food and a large flagon of ale onto the table at Robb’s instruction. In his mind Billy was still new to him, even though he had been his squire for near two years now. Olyvar had long since been knighted, and it had taken Robb years to even think of a replacement for him. His council had insisted in the end, it was _proper_ , or so they told him. He gave in, choosing a boy from the town to take the position as his own form of rebellion.

“Thank you,” Robb remembered his manners in time, and Billy looked delighted at the praise. He was still a young lad, not quite five and ten yet, but he was harmless enough and coming on well with the sword. Robb sat heavily in his chair and pulled the food towards him. It was the same every night. Cold meat with a slab of cheese and a roll of bread. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep his hunger at bay until he fell asleep. He took a few bites, though it did little to indulge his taste, before he turned his attention to the flagon of ale. This was the time of night he hated, the time between finishing up in the fields and going to bed. He had tried on previous nights to occupy himself by spending time out with the men, drinking and playing card games. Even then his mind had wandered, wandered to things he would prefer not to think about.

Top of that list was his coming nuptials. If there had been one thing that he had hoped to avoid for as long as possible it was that. Now she was coming early, and so too would the wedding. He wondered if he would even be able to muster a smile for her, if he would not recoil away from the touch of her hand when they said their vows in the Godswood. Because they would say them. They had no choice in the matter. He forced down more of the food to try and shift his mind away from Myrcella Baratheon. He almost choked. That was a joke. The girl was pure Lannister, and he was dreading her more that he had dreaded facing the dragons all those years ago. He had been invited to recover his strength properly at the Capitol. He had declined. Being there meant seeing her, and he had known he would not be able to deal with it. Even now he wasn’t sure he would deal with it. He laughed without humour. How was he supposed to take this girl into his home and into his bed if he was unsure if he would even be able to look at her?

More ale appeared to be the answer. He drank deeply from the flagon. His mother would likely have scolded him for not pouring it into a tankard. He shook his head, banging it back down against the table. His mother wasn’t here. Thank the Gods. If she were he would be in for another lecture, another lecture about how he had to give Myrcella a chance. About how she were not to blame for what her brother and her uncle had done. She just had the misfortune to be born to Cersei Lannister, it was no more fault of hers than it had been Robb’s that he were born a Stark. _“My family is not made up of murderers and treasonous bastards.”_ And so that particular lecture was ended. More and more would be sprung on him though, and the more his mother pushed him the more he dug in his heels. Somewhere deep inside he knew he was being unfair, and he knew that Myrcella was likely relishing this about as much as he was. He refused to care though, and every time he saw Bran sat out in the tiltyard watching the men mournfully his resolve strengthened that little bit more.

Robb drained the rest of the flagon before he stood up and pulled off the dirt smeared rag his tunic had become. Working out in the fields it was more than adequate to keep him warm, now he had stopped for the day and the night was coming in faster he found himself cold. His boots came next before he loosened the laces of his breeches and climbed beneath the mountain of furs on the bed. Likely Grey Wind would return sometime near dawn and wake him for the next day of the harvest. Robb closed his eyes and sighed heavily, allowing the combination of his exhaustion and the large flagon of strong ale to send him to sleep…

_She ran her hands shakily over his chest, her breathing ragged against his skin as she moved to lay her head against him. His own hand found the small of her back, feeling her skin damp and slick beneath his touch. She turned her head, her lips coming to her chest, her tongue trailing up from his ribs in the next moment. “What are you doing?” he asked in breathless amusement. “Tasting you,” she replied, lifting her head up to look at him through lowered lashes. “And what, pray tell, do I taste of?” he raised a brow and she smiled wickedly at him. “Man,” she said simply, and he reached his hand down lower until he could squeeze her bottom firmly. “I suppose I can have no complaints about that,” he smirked at her, and she bit down on her bottom lip, shaking her head slowly. “No,” she agreed, “no, I suppose you can’t…”_

_She tailed off as he brought his other hand to the back of her neck, encouraging her to lean into him. Their lips met in the next moment and he laced his tongue with hers, twisting it in her mouth so he could taste her back. She pulled back too quickly, her eyes darkened with lust again and her breathing just a little bit too fast. “I ought to go,” she said, regret evident in her tone. “Stay,” he said, knowing that she wouldn’t from the half smile that twitched her lips. “It will do neither of us any good if your mother catches me in the keep again, you know that,” she told him seriously and he sighed heavily. He was a man grown, and a king to boot, and yet his mother could still make him feel like a naughty child. “What my mother doesn’t know, cannot hurt her,” he said with a raised brow, but she pushed away from him anyway, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed and rising up._

_He watched her as she moved to gather up her clothing, his eyes roaming every inch of her bare skin. They lingered on her hips which were beautifully curved from the birth of two children. Her breasts were full and soft, and Gods he loved to have them in his hands. In his mouth. His perusal was interrupted as she pulled her shift over her head and he made a disgruntled noise. “Are you ever satisfied, your Grace?” she asked him teasingly, and he shook his head slowly, silently pleading with her to come back to his bed. “You know I can’t stay,” she said firmly, clearly having read his intent all too clearly. “Will you come tomorrow?” he asked before he could stop himself, and she fixed him with a look for a long moment. “This is happening too much,” she said almost fearfully, “it cannot go on forever…sometimes I wonder if it would have been best if it never started.”_

Robb woke irritably, his eyes blinking awake to find Grey Wind had pushed his way passed the entrance flap. No doubt it had been him letting in a stream of cold air that had roused him. He narrowed his eyes at Grey Wind, but his wolf seemed unperturbed, merely coming closer and jumping up onto the bed. If Robb had the heart he would have shoved him off, he was far too big and had been for years. He didn’t though, the extra warmth of his wolf would no doubt have him drifting back to sleep in no time. The bed creaked ominously as Grey Wind settled himself on the other side of him and Robb sighed heavily. “You shouldn’t eat so much,” he muttered to his wolf, who huffed loudly in response as he lay his head between his front paws and closed his eyes. Robb rolled his eyes and shifted a little beneath the furs to get into a more comfortable position.

He gave up after a moment, bringing his hands up to his face as he remembered his dream. His memory. Ada had not been the first woman he had taken to bed, but she had been his only long term lover. Sometimes he missed her at night, and he knew that that was selfish, knew that she was far better off now than she had been sharing his bed night after night. His mother had not been impressed, but Robb couldn’t help himself, he had been drawn to her from the first moment he set eyes on her. At first he had told himself that it was because he pitied her, because he felt responsible for her widowed status and the fact that her young children would grow up without a father. He made excuses to spend time with her, drop by her home and make sure she had everything she needed as the winter set in. It was a year before they kissed, but after that they hadn’t stopped. He was reckless with her, too reckless. It still chilled him that he could easily have planted a child in her. He hadn’t. Thank the Gods.

If he closed his eyes he could still feel her soft, dark curls twisting around his hands. Could still inhale the musky, sweet scent of her. He could feel her in his mouth. Feel her nails pinching into his back as he took pleasure from her glorious body. He could hear her gasping, feel her trembling beneath him as she fell apart and cried out his name. He rubbed his hands across his face again. This was doing him no good, thinking of Ada and the time they had had together only served to remind him that it was now over. It had been for over a year, and his bed had remained cold despite the brief coming of summer. He tried not to think about who would next occupy his bed, doing that only made him think of tumbling golden locks and cold green eyes. They said Myrcella was as beautiful as her mother, more so even. That mattered not to Robb, not if she were of the same character as well. He despised Cersei Lannister, despised the fact that she had got away with everything. At least the Kingslayer had been punished for a time. At least Joffrey was dead. But her. He clenched his fists together and took a long, deep breath.

It was too much to ask the Myrcella not be like her mother. She had been betrothed to him for almost half her life. Half her life that her mother had no doubt spent dripping poison in her ear and making her as twisted and cold as she was. What hope did they have? What hope did their children have? This was not how he had always imagined being married. He had imagined being able to love his wife, to care for her at least. He had imagined that their children would see united and happy parents. That image had swiftly died in him the day Tywin Lannister named his terms. His mother was forever telling him to _hope_ , to _believe_ that he and Myrcella could have a happy future together. _“You know nothing about her, Robb, you cannot just assume that she is a double of her mother.”_ Perhaps she was right. Perhaps she was wrong. Either way, it did nothing to stop Robb imagining the worst. Grey Wind let out a snore at his side, pulling him from his increasingly irritable thoughts. He huffed in irritation and turned firmly away from his wolf, jamming his eyes closed determinedly…

_He ran his fingers slowly up and down her spine as her own whispered patterns in the hair adorning his chest. She was quiet tonight, and he had seen the look in her eye when he had lain her down on the bed. It was almost as though she wanted to tell him something but had not thought up the words yet. He had considered stopping, asking her what was wrong, but she had wrapped her legs around his waist before he could muster the words and from then on he was lost. Now though he was thinking again, and thinking the worst. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach he somehow knew that this night with Ada would be his last. She was almost confirming it to him herself by the way she had stayed at his side rather than shifting away at once to redress herself. He swallowed hard, wondering if she would tell him, or if she would just leave and never come back. If he had the words he would ask her, but part of him was afraid of the answer._

_“Thom has been visiting lately,” she said quietly, her finger still moving against his skin. “Thom?” he repeated questioningly, a slight frown creasing his brow. “The baker,” she elaborated. He knew now, the man had recently moved from one of the villages around Karhold. Winterfell had lost its own baker, Melvyn, during the winter, so Thom’s arrival had been welcome indeed. “Why?” he asked, thinking he already knew the answer, but wanting to hear it from her own lips. “He brought some gingerbread for the children the first time,” she told him, “he had more excuses to drop by after that. Last week he fixed that gap in the window pane, and I asked him to stay for dinner…”_

_“I assume he did,” Robb muttered irritably, his hand stilling against her back. “He’s a good man, and he knows a good trade. I have to consider my future, and the future of my children,” she explained to him, and he closed his eyes. He knew she was right, and he knew that he could offer her nothing aside from the other side of his bed. Even that would not be his to share with her for much longer. He sighed, turning his head and pressing a kiss to her creased brow. “I understand,” he whispered against her skin, feeling her body relax and her brow smooth under his lips. She raised her head so she could look down on him, one of her hands coming to push his damp curls back from his brow. “I don’t regret coming to you,” she murmured, “but you know it cannot go on any longer, not if Thom asks for my hand, which I am hopeful he will.”_

_“I know,” Robb agreed, though it was with a heavy heart. “Though, I do not know what I will do with my evenings now,” he went on with a smile, determined to lighten the mood. “I am sure there are many a woman who would gladly take my place,” she said teasingly, her nails pinching lightly into his chest for a moment. “I don’t think I could have them,” he confessed. “If I were any kind of man then I would never have had you.”_

_“Why did you?” she asked him curiously, her eyes searching as she met his own. “I wanted to help you, your husband was dead and you were facing the winter with two young children to look after. I wanted to try and make some of it right…but then, the more time I spent with you…” he trailed off, raising his brows slightly. “I suppose I couldn’t help myself,” he finally finished, and she smiled slightly. “I never imagined being with anyone but my husband,” she said, sadness shining in her eyes now that made guilt bubble up inside him. “Ada -,” he began._

_“But I have told you before that I do not regret this, foolish as it was,” she cut him off, a smile twitching her lips. “When Jon died I was left even more alone than when he left for war, I knew our boys would grow without a father, and that I would have to provide for them and try and keep them alive through the winter. Then you came, and you slowly became more of a man to me than a king, and in the end…” she hesitated, shaking her head slightly. “Well,” she smiled, “in the end I suppose that I couldn’t help myself either.”_

_“What a pair we are,” he said softly, twisting a loose lock of her hair around his fingers. “I have a second chance with Thom,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “And I would never seek to take that from you. You have my word, Ada, what has happened between us will remain between us,” he promised her, “and I wish you every happiness, you and your children.” Her lips pressed together tightly at that, her eyes shining as she looked down on him. “Thank you,” she finally managed, her voice slightly choked. “And you know where I am, if ever you should have need of me, if your family has need of me then you only need ask and I will do anything I can for you,” he continued._

_“Thank you,” she said again, nodding her head in a rather determined manner. “You deserve to be happy, you know,” she went on after a moment of silence. He smiled wryly at that, still twisting her hair between his fingers. “You know who your queen will be,” he said quietly, “so do not expect me to hold out much hope for a happy future.” Ada pulled away slightly at that, shifting herself so she was sat at his side looking down on him. “You cannot imagine the worst before you have even met her,” she told him seriously and he snorted. “Of course I can, I know where she comes from,” he said, and her frown deepened. “You cannot judge her on the sins of her family,” she said almost incredulously, her eyes wide. “Ada, how can I be expected to just forget that she is a Lannister? How can I expect her to forget that?” he asked her expectantly._

_“You don’t,” she said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You just find a way to live with it, to see around it. Just because she came from Cersei Lannister, it does not mean she will have her nature. She could be the very opposite for all you know, and the only way you will ever find out is if you approach this marriage with an open mind. A clean slate. Do not make the mistake of thinking that you are the only one who suffered during the war. I cannot imagine it was easy for her when the dragons came, or when the dead awoke. She may not have fought, Robb, but it does not mean that she did not feel. The princess had no more choice in this match than you did, even less so really. You could have said no, do you think anyone ever asked her if she consented?”_

_Robb sighed heavily at her words, hating the guilt that they had twisting in his stomach. He didn’t want to feel guilt over Myrcella, not now when he was in the midst of his last night with Ada. “You sound like my mother,” he muttered and she raised her brows at him. “Well, perhaps you might consider that we may both be right,” she said irritably, and he sighed again, moving his hand to wrap lightly around her wrist. “Let’s not do this,” he implored her, “come here, please. This is our last night together, can we not just forget about reality and lose ourselves until dawn?”_

Robb woke again, the stirring of the men rousing him this time. He rubbed the sleep from his bleary eyes and jabbed his elbow into Grey Wind’s side. His wolf growled softly in his sleep, but he did not open his eyes. He sighed, deciding to just leave him there, it was not like he could help gather the harvest anyway. Robb climbed out of bed, shivering in the cold morning air and hunting for his clothes at once. He pulled on his tunic, before forcing socks and boots onto his feet and tightening the laces on his breeches. Then he sought out his doublet and cloak, knowing he would likely discard them later when he worked up a sweat in the fields, but grateful for the extra warmth for the time being. When he had wrapped his cloak around him he pushed the canvas flap aside and stamped out into the camp. There was a frost dusting the ground again, and he looked up to see the sky slowly lightening as the sun rose from beneath the horizon.

At least a frost meant there would be no rain; that at least was something to be grateful for given the nature of their work. “Good morning, your Grace,” one of the men beside the closest fire greeted him, and he inclined his head in response. “Good morning,” he returned, his voice slightly hoarse in the chill of the morning. It was nothing some hot wine and a good breakfast would not cure, and so he set off through camp, his eyes searching for Billy. He caught sight of him eventually, and his squire jumped to his feet as Robb called out his name. “Breakfast will not be long, your Grace,” the boy gabbled out at once, “and there is already some wine heated, if it please you, your Grace?”

“It would please me immensely, thank you, Billy,” Robb replied, making sure he remembered to smile. It was not his young squire’s fault that his mind was tormented with thoughts of his former lover and his upcoming marriage to a woman he didn’t want. He remembered Ada’s words from so long ago, now fresh in his mind after his dreams about her the night before. “ _You could have said no, do you think anyone ever asked her if she consented?”_ Those words had needled at him in a way that none of his mother’s ever had. He closed his eyes. It was easy to think of Myrcella as an indulged and pampered princess. Ada’s words though…they made him question that, and the result made his head ache whenever he dwelled on them. “Here you are, your Grace,” Billy handing him a cup of hot wine pulled him from his troubled thoughts. He took it with thanks, remembering to smile again, as he determined that he would not think of Ada or Myrcella for the rest of the day.


	4. III: Bleak and Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos and the comments, I really, really appreciate your positive vibes!
> 
> Sorry to disappoint, EmperorKaizer, but this chapter won't be Myrcella in the Riverlands. As for political spice, Tywin has no reason to cause trouble given that this was his idea. I also don't think Bolton or the Freys would act against Robb of their own accord. Cersei, however, well, that's a different story! 
> 
> Right, I hope everyone enjoys this new one!
> 
> :)

 

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

 

She jolted awake as the carriage hit yet another bump in the road, her head smacking against the wooden sides. Myrcella cursed groggily, bringing her hand up to her head to rub the spot she had just bashed. It throbbed dully but she imagined the pain would soon fade, she was more interested in knowing how far they had come now. For the past days they had been traveling through the Riverlands, and from that Myrcella knew that it would not be long before they crossed the border and into the North. Into another kingdom entirely, ruled by a different king. _A kingdom I will soon be wed to, a kingdom I will soon be queen of._ She shuddered, allowing herself to believe it was because of the chill in the air she pulled her thick fur stole further around her shoulders and moved her hand to pull back the thick drape that covered the single window the carriage possessed.

It was still dark out, not pitch black but still likely an hour or so before dawn. She allowed the drape to fall back into place and slumped back down against the cushions. There was no bed in the carriage, merely a bench that had been upholstered and an array of furs, blankets and cushions for her to fashion into something comfortable enough to sleep on. She had had the option of stopping each night at an inn, but she had refused it. Her guard were able to survive on only a few hours’ sleep, at least that is what they told her, and so she had been happy to stay in the carriage and allow them to move them along whenever they pleased. It would mean reaching the North sooner, something that she both longed for and dreaded. She longed to get there because then she would know exactly what she would be faced with. Then again, she also dreaded thinking about what she might face, terrified that her worst fears would be revealed.

She determined not to dwell on it now, grabbing one of the cushions and punching it into shape before she tucked it under her head and closed her eyes. The sway of the carriage soon evened out and her eyes began to droop. She vaguely wondered if this is how babies felt when they were rocked in their mother’s arms, that they found the movement hypnotic and ever so soothing. Myrcella pulled her furs more tightly around her and shifted to find a better position. She wondered, as she let out a long sigh and snuggled herself around another of the cushions, if her own mother had ever rocked her to sleep, or whether she was just tended to by her nurses. It would be nice, Myrcella thought, just before sleep took her, to one day be able to rock a child of her own to sleep in her arms.

* * *

Myrcella fiddled with the little catch that held the window shut, finally managing to work the stiff fastening loose. Once it was she pulled the window open and fastened it so with the little hook that was hanging on the inside of the carriage. She breathed in the rush of freezing air greedily, daring to stick her head a little way out of the window. They were nearly there, one of her guards had told her the night before when she had ventured down from her carriage to stretch her legs. Soon Winterfell would be upon them, and she was starting to feel a horrible twisting sensation in the pit of her stomach. It was nerves, no doubt, and she willed them away. The last thing she wanted to appear before the Starks was frightened. She wanted to show them that she could be strong and hardy and survive in the North. If she went before them trembling with fear then they would likely imagine she would not last the winter. _Perhaps they would prefer that?_

She stuck her head further out of the window at that unsavoury thought, not caring that the freezing air made her eyes stream, nor that it was likely making her cheeks red raw. It felt good. Real. She needed so desperately to feel something real, something that could distract her from her tightly knotted stomach. Despite herself she wondered what the King in the North was doing now. Did he know she would soon be upon him? Was his stomach twisting as hers was? Perhaps he was pacing nervously, or perhaps he was working off his tension in the tiltyard. Perhaps he was unaffected. Unmoved. Perhaps he didn’t care at all that she would soon be arriving. She closed her eyes and pulled her head back into the carriage, wiping the moisture from her cheeks. The last thing she needed was for it to look as though she had been crying when she arrived. She could already imaging the knowing looks. She wondered if they would feel pity for her, or if they felt she deserved to suffer.

Myrcella let her head lean against the side of the carriage so she could look out into the vast bleakness of the North. She remembered back to another lifetime when she had been travelling in a far larger carriage with Tommen and their mother. She remembered how excited they had been, how they had clamoured at the window and tried to get their mother to join in their joy. _“There is nothing to see, it is only wasteland.”_ Myrcella could not disagree more. Yes, the North was cold, and there was not much that was not green or grey. But it was _beautiful_ in its own way. So vast and unending and so stunningly different from everything she was used to. Bleak and beautiful, two things that ought not to fit together seemed to work perfectly here. She smiled slightly and arranged her stole better around her neck as the cold air filled the carriage. There was no way she was closing the window though, she had to get used to this, and she wanted to see more of the wild North.

“Banners!” a shout from outside drew Myrcella’s attention after several moments of her just gazing out at the scenery flashing by the window. “I see the turrets!” another called, and the pace of her carriage seemed to increase ever so slightly. Her heart pounded wildly, knowing that it could only be Winterfell they were approaching as they had passed through Cerwyn earlier in the day. She swallowed hard and nervously fiddled with her stole, looking down at her skirts to make sure they were not too creased from travelling. In the next moment her hand went to her hair, praying that it did not look dishevelled from when she had stuck her head out of the window. Gods, what a stupid thing to do that had been. She practically dived across the carriage to root out her vanity box from under the seats opposite hers. Her guards were shouting to one another again as she rummaged quickly through for her brush.

“The gates are up, we’ll ride right through!” one of them shouted, and she hurriedly dragged the brush through the tangled strands of her hair as quickly as she could. She just knew when the carriage had passed under the gate, feeling the difference in the smoothness of the ground beneath the wheels. Hurriedly she dropped the brush back into the box and slammed the lid closed, tossing her hair back over her shoulders and quickly moving back to her seat, hoping she had arranged herself on it in an unaffected manner. All too soon the carriage began to slow and she felt a lump rise up in her throat that would not disappear, no matter how hard she swallowed. Her stomach was churning so rapidly now that a part of her seriously thought that she might be sick. She clenched her fists, her nails sinking into her palms as she took long, deep breaths. In the next moment the door of her carriage opened and she turned her head to meet the eyes of one of her guard. “Are you ready, princess?”

 _"You never let Joffrey best you…Robb Stark is not Joffrey.”_ Remembering Tommen’s words in his determined tone gave her the courage she needed to nod her head, bringing a smile to her face that she hoped did not resemble a grimace. She placed her hand firmly in the one her guard held out to her and shifted so she could step down from the carriage in the most dignified manner she could manage. One step. Two step. Her booted feet found the flagstones of the courtyard of Winterfell. She kept her eyes on the stones, taking one final deep breath before she looked up to see who was gathered to greet her. She swallowed, blinking stupidly. “Princess Myrcella, welcome back to Winterfell,” the smile on Lady Stark’s face looked rather strained, but Myrcella appreciated the effort, taking a few uncertain steps towards her.

“Thank you, my lady,” she inclined her head politely, not sure whether she should drop into a full curtsey or not. She had not expected this. She had expected the King to be here, she had prepared herself for him and she had memorized exactly how she would conduct herself. If he was here then of course she would have dropped into a curtsey, there could be no question of not doing so. It was only his mother though, and though she was mother to the King, Myrcella still outranked her. Her head was spinning, her mouth opening as though to say something, and then closing again because she could think of no words. Even if she could think of any, she doubted they would come, the lump in her throat had apparently doubled in size.

“Allow me to show you to the keep,” Lady Stark inclined her own head in return. “The servants will take care of your men and make sure your things are taken to your chambers, I don’t believe you would decline a glass of wine?” As she spoke, she beckoned Myrcella to follow her and she did so obediently, her eyes darting around the courtyard, looking for any sign of the rest of the Stark family. “I would not, thank you, my lady,” Myrcella confirmed as she followed Lady Stark up the steps of the keep. Myrcella noted, as they passed between the guards that flanked the outer doors, that Lady Stark was swathed in black. Still mourning her husband. She swallowed hard, unable to remember her mother ever wearing black for her father. For Joffrey, yes. But not for their father. “You must forgive the lack of a proper welcome party,” Lady Stark apologised as the guards opened the inner doors for them so they could step into the entrance hall.

“You were not expected this soon,” the older woman continued on as the doors were firmly closed behind them again. “We made good speed,” Myrcella said, the only thing she could think of. “Quite,” Lady Stark agreed, leading her down a hallway that was vaguely familiar to her, though she could not quite remember why. She opened the third door they came to, gesturing for Myrcella to enter the room first. There was a fire dancing happily in the grate, and an inexplicable warmth to the small parlour she had been shown to. “Sit, please,” Lady Stark indicated her, and Myrcella did as she was told. Slowly she removed the stole from around her neck, it was rather stifling now that she was within the warm confines of the keep. Lady Stark set about pouring two glasses of wine, Myrcella thanking her when she passed her one of them.

“To your safe arrival,” Lady Stark toasted her with a smile, before she too settled herself down, taking the armchair that was opposite Myrcella’s. “You’re too kind,” she responded, before taking a tiny sip from her glass. “You must forgive the absence of my children,” Lady Stark said apologetically, “I am afraid that Robb is away from Winterfell, aiding the men with the harvest. He assured me in his last letter that he would be travelling back before long.” Myrcella wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she merely smiled in what she hoped what a serene manner, before she took a larger mouthful of wine. “I am sure his Grace has much to contend with, what with winter so fast approaching,” she said when she had swallowed it, “I would hate my arrival to cause any inconvenience to his duty to his subjects.”

“Indeed, we did not expect to be facing the snows again so soon,” Lady Stark said heavily, her eyes becoming slightly unfocused for a moment. “As for the others, Rickon is in his lessons. Arya is the Gods only know where, and Sansa of course no longer dwells at Winterfell. Bran is likely in the library or with the Maester, he has an almost unquenchable thirst for knowledge…” she tailed off, a slightly regretful look in her eye as she spoke about her second son. Myrcella swallowed hard, the memory of Bran’s _accident_ and who was responsible for it was hanging thick and unspoken in the air between them. “I was so very pleased to hear about Lady Sansa’s marriage,” Myrcella forced a smile, hoping to clear some of the rapidly rising tension. “Thank you,” Lady Stark replied, “she is most happy.”

“Where does she reside now, if I may ask?” Myrcella enquired, hoping that it was true that Sansa was indeed happy. After what she had suffered at the Capitol she deserved a whole lifetime of happiness. “Only a few leagues north of here, one of the old holdfasts was restored and gifted to her husband when he was knighted. After the wedding Sansa moved there with him,” Lady Stark told her, and Myrcella nodded her head. “It must be nice, having her close,” she commented, “does she visit Winterfell often?”

“She and Olyvar come when they can, their visits are slightly less frequent now they have the girls,” Lady Stark answered her, a wistful smile coming to her face. “Of course,” Myrcella said, “may I ask how old they are?” She had known that Sansa was mother to one daughter, news had trickled down to the Capitol a little over a year ago, but she had no knowledge of a second. “Bethany has two name days,” Lady Stark informed her, “and little Raya was born a mere three weeks ago.” There was inexplicable joy in her future good-mother’s voice when she spoke about her little granddaughters, and Myrcella couldn’t help but smile. “That’s so wonderful, you must be so thrilled,” she said, hoping Lady Stark didn’t doubt her sincerity. The older woman smiled, but Myrcella wondered if she had imagined the slightly uneasy look in her eye.

It was gone in a blink and Myrcella determined to forget about it, smiling back at her. “Thank you,” Lady Stark said, “our family has been blessed indeed in recent times, now, perhaps I can show you to your chamber?” Myrcella nodded, placing down her empty glass and rising carefully up to her feet again. “That would be most kind,” she said as Lady Stark rose to her own feet and made her way to the door. “It’s the least I can do, given your poor welcome,” Lady Stark replied, and this time Myrcella was sure she had caught a tone of irritation. She wondered whether the woman was irritated with her children for not being in attendance, or irritated with her for even being here. Thinking made her head hurt, and she decided to just hope that it was the former. If it was the latter then she would likely have no hope whatsoever of being accepted here. Robb Stark may well be the King, but it was well known how much of an influence his mother was to him.

* * *

Lady Stark had left her alone in the end, imploring her to ask should she need anything. Myrcella had smiled and been as polite as she could, wanting more than anything to endear herself to her future good-mother. She wondered if the King had kept away on purpose. She wondered if he wanted to hear his family’s impression of her first. Perhaps she was just thinking too hard about it, more than likely he really had just been held up helping the men with the harvest. It didn’t seem like something a king ought to be doing, but then again, as she was forever reminding herself, things in the North were done differently. She could never imagine Tommen going out and aiding the men with gathering stores. Not because her brother lacked the compassion nor the heart for it, but because their grandfather would never allow it if the idea ever did come into his head.

After a few moments of just concentrating on breathing calmly, Myrcella really began to take in her surroundings. Her chamber was modest but perfectly clean and cosy looking. A fire had already been lit in the grate and was dancing happily. From the warmth of the room she imagined that it had been lit some time before she arrived. There was a dresser in one corner, next to the window. A vanity was placed on the other side of the window. The bed dominated the wall opposite the fire, it was a large space with what looked like an entire mountain of furs atop it. She imagined that she wouldn’t have need of all of them just yet. Her imagination then ran further, and before she could stop herself she was wondering if the King would ever share this space with her, or if she would be summoned to his bedchamber if he had need of her. She shuddered, averting her eyes from the bed and taking in the rest of her new living space.

The door to her chamber was between the fire and the dresser, and on the other side of the fire there was a screen. She imagined that a bathtub was placed behind it, and she approached and peered behind it just to confirm her thoughts. Against the wall opposite the window there was a table with two comfortable looking chairs. Again her imagination took off without her, wondering if she and the King could ever be comfortable enough with one another to take meals in private. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, looking instead towards the empty shelves that stood next to the bed. They looked rather forlorn, standing empty in such a cosy space. Really they ought to be laden down with books and trinkets. She had a few trinkets with her belongings, but only one book. Really, she ought to have brought more, but she had assumed that the Starks would have a plentiful supply. She bit her lip and remembered Lady Stark mentioning a library.

Her mind was made up then, she snatched up her stole before she could talk herself out of it, wrapping it around her shoulders before she marched with intent from the room. She remembered the way down to the entrance hall without any trouble, hesitating slightly before she approached the guards that were stationed on either side of the inner door. “Would you mind pointing me towards the library?” she asked them hopefully, seeing them exchange a glance with one another. She couldn’t read their expressions, half their faces hidden by beards. “It’s in the east wing, princess,” one informed her, “follow the main hallway down to the end and you will come to it.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice laced with more relief than she had intended. They merely inclined their heads to her in response and she offered them a smile before she turned and made her way towards the hallway that led through the eastern part of the keep. The hallway forked at the end, but there was a door stood right before her and it was slightly ajar. She moved quietly towards it and looked through the gap, smiling in relief when she saw the shelves of books within. Myrcella opened the door more widely and stepped inside, pushing it to again before she set off down one of the rows. Idly she kept her eyes on the shelves, her eyes scanning the spines of the books as she drifted around one of the corners, waiting for something to catch her interest.

“Princess Myrcella,” she jumped, though the voice was soft she had not been expecting it. She whirled around, finding the man the voice belonged to. Her eyes widened when she saw him. He was older, and had a hint of stubble on his cheeks, but his eyes and his features were easily recognisable. There was a slight smile on his lips, and an almost nervous look in his eye that put Myrcella at ease at once. “Lord Bran,” she greeted him in an almost relieved manner, a smile breaking out on her own face. “Welcome to my domain,” he said in a teasing manner, and her smile only widened. “You must be kept well entertained here,” she commented, casting her eyes about the place. It was vast, and yet still inexplicably warm as the rest of the keep so far appeared to be. “Sorry I didn’t come out and greet you,” he said sincerely, “the people still stare.”

“That’s no matter,” Myrcella said, her mouth suddenly dry. She swallowed hard, trying to think of something else to say. “I know you might not believe me, but I was truly glad to hear that you had woken after…” she trailed off, seeing the dark look that crossed his features. “Why would I not believe you?” he asked after a moment of silence that Myrcella found excruciatingly painful. “Given how you came to have your fall,” she said quietly, her eyes finding the floor as her fists clenched tightly. “You didn’t push me, princess,” Bran said quietly, and his words gave her the courage to lift her head and meet his gaze again. “No,” she agreed, “but I know how much harm my family has caused to you, irreparable damage…”

“You cannot take responsibility for any of it, none of us can help our name,” Bran told her firmly, “it would be like me being given credit for slaying a dragon. I cannot take the credit for Robb’s achievements just because I have the Stark name, no more than you can take the blame for any of your family’s misconduct.” She raised her brows at the word _misconduct_ , thinking that Bran was being far more diplomatic that he had cause to be. “Thank you, my lord, truly, you have no idea at all how much your words mean to me,” she told him, her eyes holding his the entire time she spoke. “Robb ought to have been here to greet you,” he said sadly after a moment of just looking at her. “I’m sorry that he wasn’t,” he smiled slightly.

“I’m sure he has much to contend with, what with winter on the way again,” she said, hoping she sounded unaffected. “Besides, you ought not to take responsibility for your brother’s absence,” she went on, her tone slightly teasing now. She was thrilled when Bran grinned at her, it almost felt like the past eight years had been erased and that they were children again with no cares in the world. It may have been delusional, but Myrcella was determined to hold onto that feeling for as long as possible. “What is it you’re studying?” she asked him curiously, taking a step closer to the desk he was sat at. “Come closer,” he beckoned her forwards, and she did as he bid, coming to lean over the desk so she could better see the papers and books he had strewn over it. “Stars?” she questioned him, and he nodded his head.

“You know, there are some in the world who believe our futures can be told from them,” Bran informed her, and her lips quirked up slightly. “How fascinating. Do you believe it?” she inquired, turning her head to see his own lips twitch into a smile. “I have far more study to do before I can make a decision on that,” he told her, and her smile widened. “Yes, I suppose you do,” she said faintly, looking at the piles of books and papers he had before him. “If I conclude it true, perhaps I could reveal your future, princess,” he said. Though his tone was teasing it had Myrcella’s stomach clenching tightly again. “I am not sure I would want to know,” she said quietly, averting her eyes, but not before she had seen the frown crease his brow. “I believe you will have a happy future, princess,” he said just as quietly, “good people deserve happy futures.”


	5. IV: Awkward Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments, really great to see such positive feedback on this. As I've said before, I've never written Myrcella before so it's really gratifying to know you like what I'm doing so far.
> 
> The big meet is upon us this chapter, hope you all enjoy it, and thanks to everyone who left kudos and pushed me over the 100 mark already.
> 
> Much appreciated, all of you!
> 
> :)

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

Robb rode stiffly in his saddle as they passed beneath the gates of Winterfell. He was not anticipating a welcome reception from his mother. Her letter had reached them the night before as they had feasted with the Cerwyns. It had been a spontaneous decision, one Robb had taken to extend his absence by another night. He would not tell his mother that though, she was furious enough with him as it was. Myrcella had arrived, by now she would have been at Winterfell near an entire week. _An entire week closer to her becoming my wife._ Robb shook his head, the wedding was the last thing he wanted to think of as he trotted his horse into the courtyard. His eyes uneasily scanned the area for any hint of golden hair but he saw none. The moment of relief he felt at that was quelled in an instant when he found his mother stood waiting for him on the steps with her arms folded and her eyes murderous. He dismounted his horse with a sigh, and decided that he may as well get the scolding over with.

He handed the reins of his horse to Billy before he approached the keep, hoping that his expression did not betray his apprehension. “Inside please, mother,” he said quietly as he reached the bottom of the steps. She made no reply, merely inclined her head curtly before she turned and followed him through the doors and into the keep. The guards murmured their greetings and he forced smiles for them, leading his mother across the entrance hall and down the hallway that led to his father’s study. Even after all these years Robb could not bear to describe it as _his._ It was all his father’s things that decorated the place, his presence still overwhelmingly powerful. Robb vaguely wondered if it would ever fade, ashamed of himself for almost wishing that it would. He sighed. Now was not the time to think of his father, not when he was about to be torn apart by his mother.

He opened the door of the study and gestured for her to walk in first. She did as he had bid, striding in purposefully. He steeled himself before entering himself and closing the door firmly behind him. “I trust you’re well, mother,” he forced his voice to come out normally, trying to seem unaffected as he crossed to the side table to pour a glass of wine. “Would you care for some?” he asked her, beginning to feel unnerved by her silence now. Her eyes flashed at his question, and he knew that he was in for a rough time. “I would have thought that you had more pressing matters to attend to than drinking wine and exchanging pleasantries with your mother,” she said icily, but he continued pouring the wine nonetheless. “What could be more important than you, mother?” he asked, passing a glass to her. She did not look impressed.

“You know very well,” she said sternly. He decided against replying, likely whatever he said would wind her up even more. Instead he took a long drink from his glass, savouring the sharpness of the wine on his tongue. “Does it not even occur to you to ask after her? To inquire whether or not she arrived safely?” his mother asked him incredulously, and he took another drink before answering her. “I know very well, your letter informed me,” he said drily, and for a moment he honestly thought that his mother might strike him. “I did not raise you…” she shook her head, her eyes furious. “Your _father_ did not raise you to behave this way. This is not the man you are, so cold and unaffected and…and, _compassionless._ ”

“What did you expect?” he snapped at her. “Did you expect me to arrive back and fall to my knees at her feet to beg her forgiveness for my inattentiveness? Did you expect me to kiss her hand and smile and tell her how pleased I am that she has arrived safely? Is that what you want, mother? You want me to lie to her, when you and father always _raised_ me to tell the truth?!”

“I do not want you to lie to her,” his mother snarled, “but I expected that you would at least remember to show some common courtesy. Do you know what it has been like this past week?” she asked. He remained silent, knowing she would tell him whether he answered or not. “Arya has been as stubborn as you, refusing to even acknowledge her. Rickon has always been a shy boy, but at his age now you know damn well that it can be mistaken for rudeness. By the Gods, if it were not for Bran then I don’t know what I would –”

“Bran?” Robb cut her off mid-tirade, his attention caught now. “Yes, Bran,” she confirmed irritably, “he has been spending time with her, keeping her occupied and helping her settle. In short, Robb Stark, he is doing all the things that you ought to be.” He ignored that final comment, his mind spinning at the thought of Bran, of all people, wanting to spend time with Myrcella. “Why?” he finally asked, unable to make any sense of it. “Because he, unlike you, understands that Myrcella has done no wrong to us,” his mother told him calmly, and for the first time, Robb felt shame at his actions. “Where is she?” he asked quietly after a deep breath. “She went to take a walk in the gardens,” his mother told him, “I didn’t deter her from it. After all, why should she bother to greet you when you could not bother to show her the same courtesy?”

Robb ignored that jibe, draining his glass before slamming it down on the side table. He turned back to his mother, stepping towards her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you, mother,” he said, if that didn’t thaw her then he didn’t know what would. Before she could make any comment he had let himself out of the study and was striding back down the hallway. He refused to let his mind needle at him as he was let back out into the courtyard, refusing to look at any of the men who were still milling about the place. His destination was the gardens, and he refused to think of anything else, especially of who was waiting for him out there. He tried not to let the fact that she was spending time with Bran needle at him, tried not to suspect her, to imagine that she was playing a game rather than simply being kind.

He bashed his way through the gate more forcefully than he had intended, somewhat surprised that he didn’t rip the delicate gate from its hinges. Down the gravel path he went, the crunching sound numbing his mind as he strode down it, his eyes searching for any sign of her. He came to a halt when he finally caught a glimpse of her, she had strayed from the path, wandering the perimeter of the western wall. She paused as he watched her, her attention caught not by him but by something growing in the garden. He straightened his doublet subconsciously before he made his way towards her, trying to keep his footsteps light as he made his way onto the grass. His eyes found what her attention had been caught by and he watched as she reached her hand out to touch it. He found the words to stop her in her tracks before she could do so.

“It’s a thistle,” he told her, and she visibly jumped, turning to face him with wide eyes. “A pretty enough flower,” he continued, “but the spines can leave a nasty sting.” She appeared at a loss for words, and so he allowed his eyes to appraise her while she found her voice. He couldn’t deny her beauty, as a man, he would be a fool to deny it. She was very much her mother’s daughter, stood there so effortlessly poised and graceful. Robb couldn’t help but let his eyes wander the curve of her neck before they followed the progress of one of her light gold curls that ended just above her waist. Her body was swathed in a cloak but he could tell that she was slim, and no doubt curved in all the right places. He moved his eyes to hers, and she finally seemed to come to her senses. “Your Grace,” she dropped into a low curtsey, “please forgive me, I was not expecting…I didn’t know you were…”

“Why would you greet me when I was absent for your own arrival?” he tried to sound jovial, but his voice came out more coldly that he had anticipated. “I ought to have been there,” she gabbled out at once, “I meant no offence to you, your Grace. I know your own absence was unavoidable, and I know that you must have a great deal to attend to, what with winter coming again. I do hope you can forgive my unintended rudeness.” Again she dropped into a curtsey, and Robb now felt immensely uncomfortable. She was so well spoken, and she sounded so sincerely sorry, that he now found himself shifting nervously from foot-to-foot. “Please, princess,” he said awkwardly, “I did not mean to sound accusing…perhaps it is my northern tones, I meant it as a jape…”

“Oh,” she flushed scarlet, her hands clenching around her cloak as she drew it further around her as she straightened up again. “You really ought to wear gloves,” he told her, unable to think of anything else to say, and desperate to change the subject. “Oh,” she said again, her eyes fluttering to her hands. “I had not even thought of it, your Grace.” He took a step closer to her, forcing himself to hold out his hand. She seemed surprised as his gesture, hesitantly outstretching her own hand to him. He took it, feeling it slightly cold but not excessively so. He noted the softness despite himself, swallowing hard before he bent to press a light kiss to the back of it. When he raised his head back up he met her eyes, seeing her gazing at him intently. He swallowed hard before he dropped her hand. “I won’t keep you any longer,” he said abruptly, “I hope you enjoy the rest of your walk.”

With that he turned and walked away before she had the chance to say anything in return. He cursed himself the entire way back up the path, knowing that he really ought to have offered to show her the rest of the gardens. This was all too much for him, meeting her in the flesh. Properly. He still resented the fact that he would have to marry her within mere weeks, but a tiny part of him had wanted her out there in the gardens. _It’s because she’s beautiful_ , he told himself, his hands clenching and unclenching as he moved to pass through the gate again. _She’s beautiful, and I have been too long without a woman._ He refused to acknowledge any other explanation. There was no other explanation. At least he knew he would be able to do his duty by her when the time came. He straightened his doublet again and strode purposefully towards the direction of the keep.

Arya emerged from the alleyway that led towards the tiltyard on his journey across the courtyard and he scowled, seeing that damn sword on her hip again. If he had told her once, he had told her a thousand times. Their mother would always explode if Arya dared enter the keep armed, she tolerated her practicing in the tiltyard but that was as far as it went. Of course, compromise did not seem to be a word in Arya’s vocabulary. He sighed, already knowing how the ensuing argument would go. Really, he didn’t care if Arya wore the sword in the keep, but he knew that he would be the one getting it in the neck if their mother caught her. He folded his arms at her approach, but she merely grinned at him, her eyes dancing mischievously.

“Do you not think I have enough to contend with without you taking that thing inside with you?” he asked her pointedly as she came to a halt a few feet from him. “Missed you too,” Arya said in an affronted manner and he rolled his eyes. “Just this once, please, I’ve already had one earful from mother, and I would like to make it to the end of the day without another,” his tone must have been convincingly pleading because Arya’s eyes softened, and she huffed in what he knew to be grudging agreement. “Fine,” she said exasperatedly, “was your scolding to do with the _princess_?” she spoke Myrcella’s title mockingly and Robb sighed. “What else?” he said moodily, and she smiled sympathetically at him. “Mother has been trying to get us all to get to know her, but what good will that do?” Arya raised a brow. “I cannot imagine us having any common interests.”

“You don’t have any common interests with any woman,” Robb rolled his eyes in response and Arya glared at him. “That’s not true,” she said indignantly, and he grinned at her. “Name one,” he challenged her, and she glowered even more furiously in response. “You know, I was glad you’d come home, now I’m not so sure,” she said darkly, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Leave it to Arya to take his mind away from his troubles. “Take it back to the tiltyard and I’ll spar with you in the morning,” he nodded towards her sword and her scowl turned into a delighted grin at once. “Thank you!” she exclaimed, turning at once to make her way back. Halfway across the courtyard she turned back to him and smiled widely. “I am glad you’re back really!” she called out and he chuckled, shaking his head. “I should think so too!” he retorted, before he himself turned and made for the keep once more.

Again he inclined his head to the guards, smiling as best he could for them before he made his way back towards his father’s study. He let himself in, not bothering to close the door properly behind him, before crossing to the side table again and pouring another glass of wine. When he brought it to his lips he supped half of it down at once, his hands shaking slightly. “How did it go?” he jumped at his mother’s voice, spilling a few drops of wine over his hand. He turned, seeing her sat in the corner with her hands neatly folded in her lap. “What are you still doing here?” he asked bluntly in return, ignoring her question. “I assumed you’d be back,” she said simply, raising a brow. He ignored her, turning his attention back to his wine and drinking down another quarter of it. “Did she say something to offend you?” his mother persisted, and he glared at her before turning to top up his glass. “No,” he said moodily, taking another long drink.

“Do you wish she had?” she asked next, her eyes boring into his when he finally managed to meet them. “Why would I wish that?” he countered, and she shrugged her shoulders slightly. “Because it is no secret that you wish this marriage didn’t have to take place,” she said calmly, “and I wouldn’t be surprised if you had already decided not to like her before you went out to the gardens.” Robb merely scowled. Sometimes he really did despise his mother’s astuteness. “I can only assume from your silence that I’m right,” she said lightly, “and from your mood I can only assume you didn’t find anything displeasing about your future wife.” He ignored her again, gulping down some more wine and wishing that she wasn’t right. It was true, there was nothing _displeasing_ about Myrcella, but her _family._ Her blood. That was something he could not bring himself to set aside, and he wondered if he ever would be able to.

“What are you so afraid of?” his mother asked him softly, almost pleadingly. She was standing now, hesitating mere feet from him, as though she herself was afraid of coming any closer. “Do you really want to know?” he asked her, meeting her eyes that were the same ones that stared back at him in the mirror. “Yes,” she nodded, “of course I do. I am your mother, Robb, if you cannot confide in me then am not doing my duty properly.” He sighed at that, guilt nagging at his stomach again. His mother had an uncanny way of making him feel bad by implying that she was failing as a mother. It could not be further from the truth, and it was a sure way to make him tell her exactly what was playing on his mind and weighing heavily in his chest.

“I’m afraid,” he started, taking a deep breath. “I’m afraid that, that if we have a child…” he tailed off, unable to form the words, bringing his glass to his lips again and drinking the rest of the wine. “If you have a child, what?” his mother prompted him as he set the empty glass down with slightly more force than necessary. “That I won’t love it,” he said quickly, as though by blurting the words out he could make them sound any less hideous. “Why?” she asked him, her eyes wide and pleading. He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. “Because of her,” he shrugged his shoulders, “because of who she is…”

“Robb, you cannot think this way -,” his mother began in soothing tones, but he had no desire to hear her reassurances. “I can’t help it!” he burst out. “All I can think of is Lannister, when I looked at her it is all I could see. I am supposed to share a life with her, my bed with her. She will be the mother of my children and I -,” he cut off, struggling with the words.

“Robb -”

“They will be half her!” he shot across her. “They will have her blood in their veins. The same blood that flowed in Joffrey’s veins. My children, my sons and daughters will share the blood of that monster who murdered my father! How am I supposed to live with that?!”

“Robb –”

“Don’t think you can coddle me with this mother!” again he shot her down, but this time she shook her head insistently, her eyes fixed on something over his shoulder. He turned, closing his eyes in despair when he saw who was stood there. “Princess…” he began vaguely, not even sure how he was supposed to explain himself in this situation. “May I say something, your Grace?” she asked him quietly, her expression smooth. He nodded mutely, and she inclined her head in response.

“I understand why you would not want me as your wife, as the mother of your children,” she began, and he felt horrible. “I know what harm my family has caused to yours, but you signed the treaty with my grandfather all those years ago and you knew that you would eventually have to take me as your queen. You did not ask for it, I know, but you still agreed to it. I know why, to end the war and the suffering of your people, and I think you are honourable and brave for putting their lives and the future of your kingdom before your own happiness,” she paused to take a breath, and Robb wished he could stop her. Each word from her mouth made him curse himself more and more, but he could find no words, much less his voice, and so she continued, looking him dead in the eye as she did so.

“But still you said yes,” she said, a harder edge to her voice now. “You said yes, you agreed and you signed your name on the treaty. Do you think anyone ever asked me if I agreed? Do you think they asked my permission to sign away my future? My grandfather did it all on my behalf, he consented for me and I sat before him meekly with my head bowed while he _told_ me what was to become of me. There was no opportunity to say no, no room for negotiation. It had all been decided between him and you, and that was that. I am sorry that it has all become too real for you now that I am here, but I’m begging you, your Grace, do not make the mistake of thinking that this is easy for me. I may be a princess from a rich family, but the greatest decision I have ever made by myself is what to wear for my brother’s wedding. _You_ chose this future for me, and if I can live with it then, with respect, your Grace, I believe you ought to find a way to do the same.”

Robb swallowed hard as she came to the end of her speech, her eyes still on his and shining with tears now. Her voice had shaken at the end but he could not help but admire the way she was holding herself together, refusing to give into her emotions. He took a deep breath, trying to find some words in his head that would not make it all worse. An apology didn’t seem enough. Myrcella dropped her eyes from his in the next instant, dropping into a slight curtsey before she raised them back to meet his once more. “Thank you for hearing me, your Grace,” she said quietly, before she turned gracefully on the spot and walked from the room. Evidently she had assumed he had nothing to say to her. Part of him wanted to call her back, to offer her his apology, even if it would be a feeble attempt. He didn’t. He just closed his eyes and took a deep breath, waiting for the onslaught that his mother would no doubt begin once she was sure Myrcella was out of earshot.

“Well done,” she said drily, and he sighed heavily before turning back to face her. “How much did she hear?” Robb asked her, knowing he would likely regret asking. “I would say she heard more than enough,” his mother said, her eyes furious as she met his. “Go on then,” he said in a resigned manner, “hit me with it.” His mother contemplated him for a long moment, her eyes slowly softening as the seconds ticked by. “I have nothing to say,” she said quietly, a sad little smile coming to adorn her lips. “I think Myrcella said it all perfectly, and I think you ought to think hard on her words, Robb Stark. This is not all about you, and I did not raise you to be so selfish.”

 


	6. V: The Doll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my wow! I don't even know where to start with thanking you all, so I will start off with this...
> 
> THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!
> 
> Honestly, getting your feedback is amazing, I will try and answer a few things that came up, so bear with me a moment...
> 
> To shewolfhowling, yes, Sansa will certainly be making an appearance - and soon at that ;)
> 
> To Daeoable, yes, cheesy as it is, the person I have in mind is Lily James. Just, her innocence is perfection, and just how I imagine Myrcella to be. The Cinderella part helps too haha ;)
> 
> And of course, a million thank yous again to everyone else! You're all amazing!
> 
> Oh, and thank you for the kudos as well - I looove the kudos.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy the new chapter!

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

 

Myrcella’s stomach snarled with hunger but she could still not bring herself to leave her chamber and make the journey into the great hall for breakfast. She had missed dinner the night before as well but she hadn’t minded, her stomach had been fluttering too nervously for her to even consider food. Part of her could still not believe the words she had spoken to the King, and she had had a fitful sleep. Dreaming of all sorts when she did sleep, and spending the entire time fretting about what she had done when she was awake. She had over stepped the mark, she knew she had. If her mother had ever spoken that way to her father then she had no doubt that she would have ended up with a bruised cheek. Myrcella raised her own hand to her cheek, wondering if the King would ever strike her. She swallowed hard and promised herself that she would never again give him cause to.

If she were braver then she liked to think that she would have gone down to his study and offered up her apology. She was not braver though, and so she stayed hidden in her chamber, wondering if it would occur to anyone that she had not eaten in almost a full day. Self-consciously she smoothed her skirts, twisting her hands together as she resumed her slow pacing of the room. Perhaps she could wait until she was sure that everyone had finished breaking their fast and then sneak down to the kitchens and hope they had some scraps left. She sighed. Is this what she had been reduced to? Contemplating going begging to the cooks like some beggar girl. She shook her head and met her own eyes in the mirror. She was Myrcella Baratheon, Princess of the Southern Kingdoms. If she could not bring herself to walk into the great hall and face the presence of the King then what hope did she have?

Just as she had resolved to pull herself together and walk down there a knock came at the door. She hesitated, playing with her skirts again as she wondered who could possibly have come. In the end she made for the door and wrenched it open, prepared to fall to her knees and beg forgiveness if it was indeed the King who had come. She faltered when she recognised her visitor, her lips breaking into a smile despite her inner turmoil. “Sansa!” she was so surprised and elated that she forgot all propriety and practically launched herself at the older woman. Sansa held her back tightly and Myrcella closed her eyes fast to prevent the tears from coming. Eventually Sansa gently prised her away, considering her face for a moment before she ushered her back inside her chamber, following on behind. “My mother thought you might be hungry,” Sansa said after she closed the door, “one of the servants will be up soon with some breakfast for you.”

“Thank you,” Myrcella said, the only words she could say. “Robb is in a foul mood,” Sansa said lightly, crossing to the window and pulling the drapes aside. “He has barely said two words to me since I arrived,” she continued, “and even the girls haven’t managed to put a smile on his face.” Sansa’s voice remained calm and light, but Myrcella could sense the underlying questions. “Likely that is my fault,” Myrcella said, and Sansa turned from looking out of the window, a sympathetic smile on her face. “Mother didn’t say much, but she said enough that I know you had words yesterday,” Sansa said kindly, raising her brow expectantly.

“The words were all mine, my lady,” Myrcella told her miserably, and Sansa tutted, coming closer to her and ushering her into one of the chairs. “Sansa, is preferable,” Sansa corrected her with a raised brow and Myrcella managed a weak smile in response. “I’m so glad to see you,” Myrcella burst out before she could stop herself. “Truly, I am. I had no idea that you were coming and…well, I am so glad to see it with my own eyes how happy you are,” she managed a real smile at the end, and Sansa beamed back, coming to take the chair opposite her. “I’m sorry I never wrote,” Sansa said sincerely, “I would have liked to, but Robb seemed to think you would never get them.”

“Likely he was right,” Myrcella said dully, dropping her head into her hands and massaging her temples. “Whatever you said yesterday, I don’t think Robb is angry with you,” Sansa said, and she looked up hopefully. “Really?” she asked incredulously, and Sansa smiled. “I know my brother well enough,” Sansa nodded, “and I know when he is angry with someone around him, and when he is angry with himself. Believe me, on this occasion, he is most certainly angry with himself.”

“I said too much, things I really ought not to have done but…I just couldn’t help it…” Myrcella trailed off, shaking her head before dropping it heavily back into her hands. “Believe me, whatever you said was deserved, or so my mother tells me,” Sansa reassured her, and she snorted in a rather undignified manner. “Trust me,” Sansa soothed, “Robb can be as stubborn as a mule on occasion, but he will not be so cold forever. He cannot blind himself to you forever, eventually he will work out that you are nothing like he feared. You just have to be patient, and learn not to take his moods personally. He will get better, he just needs to open his eyes and see the real you.”

“What if he doesn’t like the real me?” Myrcella asked her dully, and Sansa moved her hand underneath her chin to coax her head up again. “If he does not, he is a fool,” Sansa said firmly, “don’t think I never saw what you did, how you stood up for Tommen against Joffrey. You were the only person in that place who was not afraid of him, you have a good heart, Myrcella. Robb will realise that eventually, sometimes it just takes a man a little while to catch up to what we ladies already know.”

“I think you’re overestimating me, Sansa,” Myrcella smiled slightly, “Joffrey terrified me.” She had never admitted that to anyone before, and it felt good to let someone else know, and ever so easy to confess it to Sansa. She had suffered her own torment at Joffrey’s hands, and yet she sat before her now, so wise and happy and strong. “But you never let it show,” Sansa reached forward to take one of her hands. “You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, just be yourself and Robb will come around, I promise you,” Sansa looked so certain that a little part of Myrcella couldn’t help but believe her. “I really am so glad you’re here,” she smiled, and Sansa returned it. “Gods, I almost forgot…I have something for you,” Myrcella prised her hand from Sansa’s and stood up, crossing the room to the dresser standing opposite.

“For me?” Sansa asked curiously as Myrcella opened the dresser and knelt down so she could pull the box from the bottom where she had stored it. “I was not expecting anything, Myrcella, I do hope you didn’t go to any trouble or expense,” Sansa was worrying at her bottom lip as Myrcella approached her, setting the box down on the table in front of her. “Neither,” she promised. “It has always been yours, I have just been holding onto it for you until such time I could get it back to you. I meant to get it to you before you went from the Capitol, but everything happened so quickly and I never got the chance. It doesn’t matter now though, better late than never, open it,” Myrcella urged her, and Sansa did as she was bid, sliding the lid from the box. She folded back the material Myrcella had wrapped her gift in, her eyes welling with tears at once when she saw what was inside.

“Is this…?” Sansa stood, her eyes disbelieving as she gazed down into the box. “The doll your father got you at the Capitol,” Myrcella confirmed quietly, seeing the older woman’s hands shake slightly as she reached them into the box. “I was so ungrateful,” Sansa whispered, lifting up the doll and staring at it incredulously. “Hateful,” she continued, her voice full of regret. “I’m sure your father knew you didn’t mean it,” Myrcella said soothingly, and Sansa nodded slightly, her eyes still fixed on the doll. “How did you get this?” she asked after a long moment, her eyes flickering towards Myrcella now. “Your father came across me in the keep one day, he had the doll with him and he offered it to me,” Myrcella told her, and Sansa smiled weakly. “And you kept it, all this time,” she was shaking her head slightly.

“I always wanted to get it back to you after…” Myrcella paused awkwardly, “after what happened…only, there never seemed to be a right time and I was afraid to be caught. So I kept it safe, and when I discovered that one day I would wed the King, well, I knew that I would be able to return it to you eventually.” Sansa bit down on her lip and Myrcella saw a single tear leak from her eye. “Perhaps your girls would like it, a gift from their grandfather,” Myrcella said softly, and Sansa nodded weakly. “You have no idea what this means to me,” she said, “truly Myrcella, this is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, thank you.”

* * *

Myrcella paused in the entrance hall to compose herself, taking a deep breath and smoothing out the skirts of her dress. She rearranged her fur stole about her neck and conjured up all of Sansa’s soothing words in her head. Somehow she forced her hands to come still at her sides instead of twisting around one another nervously. Finally, before she could duck out and flee back to her room, she raised her head high and walked purposefully through the double doors that led into the dining hall. It was full of people, but the happy murmur and chatter seemed to dim just a fraction when she walked in. She tried not to notice the way people would put their heads together and whisper behind their hands as she walked by. It would be better for her if she didn’t know what they were saying about her, she knew that the words would not be favourable ones. Instead she kept her eyes on the high table, seeking out an empty place, and finally seeing one on the end, next to Bran.

Once she was married, her rightful place would be to the right of the King, but his mother occupied that space at present, and though Myrcella imagined that Lady Stark would gladly give it up, she felt it likely that the King would not have asked her to. Besides, she couldn’t help but feel as though it may be the best thing for both of them to put a little distance between them for the time being so they could both sort out what was within their heads. With another calming breath she confidently approached the space next to Bran, wondering if she was imagining the quiet, insistent tones of Lady Stark. “May I?” she asked Bran brightly when she reached his side. “Of course, princess,” he smiled widely at her, “I would pull your chair out for you, if I were able.” He didn’t say the words with bitterness, rather with a teasing undertone, and a flickering glance towards his older brother.

Myrcella pretended she hadn’t noticed the look, and she herself refused to glance at the King. Instead, she merely smiled widely at Bran before pulling the chair out herself and sliding into place. Her nerves were piqued enough without her heaping more humiliation on herself by standing stupidly in the vain hope that the King might get up and pull her chair out for her. “Thank you,” she said to Bran in an undertone as she settled herself in her seat. He merely inclined his head in response as a servant approached to pour wine into Myrcella’s waiting glass. She thanked the girl when she was done, gaining a rather cold smile in response before the girl scurried back out of sight. Myrcella vaguely wondered what tales she would spin to the other kitchen maids later once the feasting was over. She quickly decided that she didn’t care, she had enough troubles to contend with regarding her coming marriage.

“Are you still studying your stars, Bran?” Myrcella politely inquired, reaching forward to take a sip of her wine, hoping that the action would quell the shake in her hands. “Yes,” he replied, “though I must confess, I do not think I am able yet to decipher the future.” He grinned at that, and she couldn’t help but laugh lightly. “Another week and I imagined you will know all there is to know,” she said certainly, and it was his turn to laugh. “You know, I found a book that you might like,” Bran said, and she turned to him in surprise. “Really?” she asked, a slight smile playing about her lips. “I remembered the last time you came that you enjoyed reading about adventures,” he said, “they are all tales from the North, so I thought you may not have read them.”

“Thank you, Bran,” she said sincerely, “that is ever so thoughtful of you.” He merely smiled and nodded slightly in response, leaning forward in his own chair to reach his own glass of wine. His action created a clear gap through which Myrcella saw the King quickly looking away from their direction. She swallowed hard and averted her own eyes, her heart thumping in her chest. “Come to the library tomorrow and collect it, if you’d like,” Bran spoke again as he leaned back in his chair, the servants pouring in now to lay out their dinner for the night. “I will,” she said simply as various serving dishes were placed before them. Bran insisted that she serve herself first, and so she did, pulling some meat and various vegetables onto her plate before drizzling a little gravy over her meal.

There was relative silence within the dining hall as everyone ate, just a low buzz of chatter and the occasional burst of raucous laughter from one table or another. The atmosphere was so relaxed here, Myrcella just wished that she could feel the same. As she ate she was constantly paranoid that the King was looking at her, the tension in her rising higher as she thought of all the things that he himself could be thinking. She ate as quickly as she could without appearing unladylike, laying her knife and fork neatly across her empty plate when she was finished. As she reached for her wine she chanced a glance to her right and was pleased to see that she was not the only one who had cleared her plate. She supped down what was left of her wine before she leaned slightly closer to Bran. “Forgive me, I think I am going to retire for the night,” she told him quietly.

“Already? Would you not stay for the sweet course?” he asked her, a slight frown creasing his brow. “No,” she shook her head, “I do not have the appetite for it.” Bran seemed to understand, his head nodding slowly and his eyes searching her for a moment. “I know you might not believe it now,” he murmured, “but it will get better.” She tried to smile at his words, hating the fact that hearing them made her eyes sting. “Thank you,” she managed, “I will see you tomorrow, to get that book.” She nodded determinedly, and he inclined his head in turn. “Goodnight, Myrcella,” he smiled, his hand hesitantly coming to rest on hers for a moment. “Goodnight, Bran,” somehow she managed another smile before she slipped out of her chair. She decided to skirt the edge of the dining hall, having no desire to walk through the middle again and have everyone staring and whispering.

A few noticed her as she passed, but thankfully not many heads turned and she was soon safely back out in the entrance hall. Gods. She took a deep breath before making for the stairs. She knew that Sansa and Lady Stark had meant well, convincing her to join everyone for dinner, but Myrcella already knew that there was little chance of her doing so again. Not unless the King showed any inclination at all that he would like her to. She almost laughed at that, a tiny snort escaping her as she made her way down the hallway towards her chamber. Once inside she began loosening the ties of her dress, shrugging her stole to the floor and crossing to the bed. She pulled back the layers of furs and pulled out her nightdress, which she kept beneath them to keep warm. Once her dress and shift fell to the floor she shivered slightly despite the fire in the grate.

Quickly she pulled the nightdress over her head and padded towards the hearth. The fire was going well enough, but she had learned quickly that if she did not stock it well with wood before going to sleep that her chamber would be freezing cold come morning. She threw as many logs into the grate as would fit, wondering what her mother would say if she could see her tending to her own fire. The thought made her smile wryly as she rose back to her feet and turned towards bed. She had barely lay a hand on the furs when a soft knock came at the door. A frown creased her brow at once, and she quickly moved to take her robe down from the hook and wrap it around her. Once it was securely tied she went to open the door, blinking stupidly when she saw who was on the other side.

“Your Grace,” she finally found her voice and her manners, dropping into a curtsey before him. “Please, there is no need,” he said awkwardly, and she rose back up, her cheeks burning. “I wasn’t expecting you,” she stuttered out, lifting her eyes again, this time noticing that he had Sansa’s doll in his possession. She couldn’t help but frown, and he clearly noticed, an odd half smile twitching at his lips. “May I?” he nodded through the door and she hesitated. She knew it was not right for a man to be in a lady’s chambers beyond a certain hour, especially when said lady was in her nightclothes. This was no mere man though, it was the King in the North. Her betrothed. She swallowed hard before nodding shyly, stepping aside to allow him to stride in. Again she hesitated, taking a calming breath before she closed the door and turned to face the King.

“Sansa gave it to me,” he looked down at the doll, and Myrcella followed his line of sight, seeing how his knuckles were stretched white where he was holding it so tightly. “Why?” she asked before she could stop herself. The King stepped a little closer to her at her question, and she raised her head and forced herself to meet his piercing blue gaze. “She was genuinely touched by your gift,” the King told her sincerely, “but the longer she had in her possession, the more memories came back for her that she would rather not think on.”

“Oh,” Myrcella said in a tiny voice, her eyes stinging again. “It was a truly kind thing you did,” he continued as she averted her eyes, “but she did not think she could stand to see her daughters playing with it. Though it was no fault of hers, she still blames herself for our father’s death, and she torments herself over how she treated him at the Capitol.” Myrcella swallowed hard, though his words were soft and reassuring she could not help but feel terrible for conjuring up so many awful memories for Sansa. She had truly thought she had been doing her a kindness. She took a shuddering breath before she raised her eyes to the King’s again. “I will apologise to her tomorrow, your Grace, you have my word,” she promised him, and he frowned.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he said, shaking his head, “you did something nice and thoughtful. You could not have known how it would be received, and I assure you, Sansa is not seeking an apology. If anything, she asked me to apologise to you if you thought her ungrateful.” Myrcella’s eyes widened at that, and she shook her head firmly. “No,” she said, “no, that is the last thing I think. Lady Sansa has been most kind to me, the last thing I wanted was to cause her any upset.”

“Then it appears the only one of us with an apology to make is myself,” he said quietly, and she couldn’t help but stare at him. “Your Grace?” her tone was questioning, her heart pounding irrationally hard in her chest. “I said some unforgivable things yesterday,” he said, “I never meant for you to overhear them, though that is no excuse. I should have never uttered them in the first place, it was selfish and unkind of me. I can only hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” Myrcella could do nothing but stare at him for a long moment, before she finally came to her senses, blinking rather rapidly. “Yes,” she said, “no,” she added quickly, “I mean…no, there is nothing to forgive, your Grace. I ought to apologise to you for what I said, I ought to have held my tongue. It was not right for me to speak to you the way I did.”

“On the contrary, what you said was entirely right,” he countered, “I have spent far too much time lamenting the future I could have had when this is the one I agreed to. I’m afraid I have been altogether too selfish to consider your own feelings, and the fact that you had no say in the arrangement whatsoever. Though many tried to make me see it, I refused to hear them, but I heard you last night, princess. I truly am sorry.”

“Perhaps,” Myrcella bit her lip, seeing his eyes soft on hers as she met them. “Perhaps we could start again?” she suggested tentatively, hesitating for a moment before she shakily outstretched her hand to him. She was beyond relieved when he moved his own to take it. Out in the gardens she had been too surprised to note how his skin felt on hers, but now she noted it to be rough and calloused, though ever so warm. “Your hands are warmer today,” he commented in an amused tone, and she couldn’t help but smile. His own lips twitched slightly in response, before he bent his head to press a kiss to the back of her hand for the second time. This time his lips lingered long enough for her to notice their softness, and the tickly warmth of his breath on her skin. When he pulled back he didn’t drop her hand right away, instead he tugged lightly on it and pulled her back towards the bed.

Her heart pounded wildly, not quite sure what he was doing, but suddenly very aware of the fact that she was only clad in her nightclothes. Just as she was about to panic, and wondering how she would ever speak up to question him he let go of her hand and lowered himself onto the end of her bed. Her heartbeat slowly began to return to normal, and she almost laughed in relief as he patted the space next to him. She moved to sit, suddenly nervous again, and unsure of what to do with her hands. The King answered that silent conundrum in the next moment. “Here,” he said softly, passing the doll back to her. She took it, her hands shaking slightly as she did so. “Would you tell me how you got it?” he asked, his tone almost longing. “Why my father gave it to you?”

“I was upset,” she told him honestly. “Why?” the King inquired, and she smiled wryly. “Back then there was only ever one reason for anyone to be upset,” she said bitterly, “Joffrey,” she added when she caught sight of the King’s frown. Understanding crossed his features, and she could see the sympathy in his eyes. Though they were a different colour entirely, she could see his father deep within them. “Your father came across me,” she continued, “I tried to hide my upset, but I could tell that he did not believe me when I told him I was fine. He had the doll with him and so he offered it to me, he said that Sansa was too old for it and Arya had never had any patience for them. He said it would only go to waste if I didn’t have it, and so I took it. That was the end of it, he gave me the doll, placed his hand on my shoulder, and that was the last time I ever spoke to him.”

“And you kept it,” the King said quietly, almost disbelievingly. “Yes,” she confirmed, her fingers playing with the fabric of the dress that the doll was clad in. “After…” she hesitated, biting down on her lip. “After what happened,” she said meaningfully, “I…I didn’t dare play with it anymore, in case my mother saw it. I could never lie to her, and if she had discovered that Lord Stark had given it to me then I don’t doubt she would have taken it away. So I put it in a box, and I vowed that one day I would get it back to Sansa.” The King was silent when she came to the end, and she dared turn her head to look at him, seeing him already watching her. Slowly he moved to take her hand again. This time he didn’t bring it to his lips, merely squeezed it lightly in his own for a moment before he spoke. “Thank you,” he said simply, “truly, thank you.”


	7. VI: Starting Afresh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter!
> 
> I know I probably sound like a broken record by now, but thank you so very much to everyone who has left comments and kudos. Really does mean a lot, as I keep saying haha. 
> 
> Some questions cropped up again, so I shall so my best to answer them below...
> 
> -Yes, there will be a bit more detail about Sansa and Olyvar, but not just yet.  
> -The Northern lords have known for eight years that she would be their queen, so there isn't much I can do in the way of "reaction", they might not be entirely happy about it, but they supported Robb's deal with the Lannisters, and so they will deal with it like he is.   
> -Yes, you can assume that Robb does have Ice, it would have been returned with Ned's body.   
> -I can't see Bolton trying to exert any influence over Myrcella, besides, with winter coming the lords will all be safely shut up in their own castles.   
> -As for Rickon, he's shy, but he will come into his own as the story progresses.
> 
> Hope that's everything answered. Anyone wants to know anything, go right ahead and ask. If not, I hope you just enjoy the new chapter! 
> 
> :)

 

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

 

“Word from Master Hellman, at Torrhen’s Square, your Grace,” Maester Luwin reported to him as he sifted through the stack of papers in front of him. “What word?” Robb inquired, reclining back in his chair lazily with his mind somewhere else entirely. “There have been more looters at the winter supplies,” the Maester told him and he sighed heavily, sitting himself up straight in his chair and giving Maester Luwin his full attention. “Does he request my presence?” he asked, hoping that Master Hellman did not require him to ride back to Torrhen’s Square merely a week after he had left in the first place. “No, your Grace,” Maester Luwin told him, “but he does beg your Grace for more coin to recruit more men to the town watch.”

“Can we spare the coin?” Robb moved his eyes to Beron, the steward. “We could spare a little, your Grace,” he confirmed, “perhaps enough to cover four more additions to the watch. We could spare more, but with winter on its way again I would advise against it.” Robb sighed heavily, nodding his agreement. “Very well,” Robb drummed his fingertips on the table top for a moment. “I suppose we have little choice besides riding to Torrhen’s Square ourselves. Write back to Master Hellman please, Maester Luwin, tell him he has leave to recruit four more men to the watch,” he decided, “and if the troubles persist then he must not hesitate to inform us.”

“Very good, your Grace,” Maester Luwin replied, making a note on a sheet of parchment in front of him. “What of our own stores?” Robb inquired, looking again to Beron and seeing him shuffle around his own stack of papers before he cleared his throat to answer. “The main grain store is a little over half full, your Grace,” Beron reported, “fish stocks from White Harbour and Flint’s Finger are as normal, though there has been a decrease along the Stony Shore.”

“Should I be worried?” Robb asked, and Beron studied his papers for a moment before answering. “I don’t believe so, your Grace,” he said, “though, if I may, I would advise that you lower the amount they are expected to export each month, that way the people there will not be at a disadvantage.” Robb nodded, his agreement. “Yes, of course,” he voiced, “is there anything else I ought to be informed of?” Again, Beron sifted through his papers, his head shaking from side to side slightly as he read down his lists. “No, your Grace,” he said, “there is the lack of certain fruits and vegetables but it is to be expected and cannot be helped. It should not affect the keep, there is a plentiful harvest ready in the glass gardens.”

“Indeed,” Robb agreed vaguely, glancing towards Maester Luwin and hoping that he too had no more news for the day. “There was also word from the Wall, your Grace,” the Maester told him, and he raised his brows expectantly. “Nothing serious,” he assured him, “just a few issues with the wildlings on the Gift, a few still seem to be having trouble adjusting to our laws.” Robb sighed heavily at that and ran his hand through his hair. “The Lord Commander assured it has been dealt with, he just thought you ought to know,” Maester Luwin finished, and Robb nodded his head. “Good,” he said after a moment, “I will write to Jon myself and thank him, you do not need to trouble yourself further with this matter.” Maester Luwin inclined his head in response, thanking him.

“Can I assume there is nothing else?” he raised a brow, looking between the Maester and the steward, both of whom shook their heads slightly. “Nothing I can think of, your Grace,” Maester Luwin said with a small smile that Robb returned. “Nothing of immediate concern, your Grace,” Beron assured him and he let out a long breath of relief, satisfied. “Then I think I can call an end to this council gentlemen, thank you as ever for your loyal council,” Robb smiled again, pushing away from the table and rising to his feet. “It is our pleasure, your Grace,” Beron said, and Maester Luwin nodded and hummed his agreement. “Until next time,” Robb said with a raised brow, straightening his doublet as he made his way out of the council chambers.

Once he had closed the door behind him he set off down the hallway, intent on doing enjoyable with his day. As he rounded the corner his footsteps faltered slightly as he saw Myrcella leaving the library, book in hand. He made his way towards her before he could stop himself, determined now to build on the fresh start they had agreed upon the night before when he had seen a side to her that he had assumed would not exist. “Princess,” he hailed her as she made to walk in the opposite direction, quickening his pace slightly as she turned to face him. “Your Grace,” she dipped into an elegant curtsey for him and he smiled slightly. “You ought to stop doing that,” he advised her in an amused tone, “I have not been curtseyed before as much in the past eight years as I have in the past few days.”

“Forgive me,” she said, a small smile on her own face as she straightened up gracefully. “There is no need, just don’t do it again,” he mock scolded her and her smile widened. “I will do my best,” she said, her tone slightly teasing, “but I cannot promise anything. We southerners are taught our courtesies well.”

“Are you saying we northerners are not courteous?” he asked in a similar tone, raising his brows. “Well,” she looked him up and down, an amused smirk on her face. “I suppose you are courteous enough considering you are all wild savages.” He couldn’t help but laugh at that, seeing her responding smile light up her eyes at his reaction. “You surprise me,” he chuckled, “I did not think that those in the south were renowned for their humour.”

“Who said I was joking?” she cocked her head to one side, and he shook his head at her, still chuckling slightly. “Did you have any plans for your afternoon, princess?” Robb inquired, deciding to change the subject. “I had thought to take this to my chambers,” she held up the book in her hand, “and then I had thought to perhaps take a walk around Winterfell and reacquaint myself with the sights.”

“Then perhaps I could escort you,” Robb suggested, “and then I could show you around myself, how better to see the sights than a personal tour from the King?” She smiled widely at that, biting down gently on her lower lip as he offered his arm to her. “So long as I am not keeping you from anything, your Grace,” she said, hesitating slightly before she lay her hand on his forearm. “Not at all,” he said easily, turning to lead her down the hallway. “I have already attended council today, and I had my mind set on enjoying my afternoon,” Robb told her, glancing down to see a faint blush had risen up on her cheeks.

“Well, I am honoured,” she said in response, and he smiled slightly as they emerged into the entrance hall and made for the stairs. They didn’t speak on the journey to her chambers, but Robb found the silence easy. He had no desire to fill it with inane chat and he could only assume she felt the same way because she made no attempt at conversation as they walked. Finally they came to her door and she slipped her hand away from his arm. “I will not be a moment, your Grace,” she said with a smile, pushing open the door. “You ought to get your cloak, there is a stiff wind blowing,” he advised her as she disappeared into the room. “Thank you,” she said, reappearing in the next moment, draping her cloak around her and nimbly closing the fastenings. “It’s nothing,” he returned, offering his arm again. This time she didn’t hesitate to take it, and they set off again in perfect step with one another.

“How much do you remember of Winterfell?” Robb asked her curiously once they had descended the stairs and made their way out into the courtyard. “Some parts better than others,” she answered, “I remember the warmth most of all, inside I mean.” He chuckled at that, deciding to lead her around the periphery of the yard to keep them sheltered from the worst of the wind. “Is it not warm at the Capitol?” he inquired as they ambled slowly around, keeping close to the walls. “In temperature, very much,” she replied, smiling wryly. “I see,” he said lightly, deciding not to sour their conversation by bringing up her family. “It was hard to relax,” Myrcella said after a moment, “unless I was with Tommen, it was difficult to be myself.”

“I imagine he is greatly changed from when I last saw him,” Robb mused, drifting unconsciously down the alleyway that led to the tiltyard. “The tiltyard is down here, isn’t it?” Myrcella asked, looking up at him for confirmation. “It is indeed,” he nodded, “though I am surprised you remember that, I did not realise you spent much time there.”

“Do you remember when Tommen and Bran sparred against one another?” she asked him, and he nodded, a regretful smile playing about his lips. “Aye,” he confirmed, nodding his head slightly. “All that padding Tommen had to wear, he was twice the size he usually was,” Myrcella went on, a tiny smile gracing her own lips. “Bran bested him easily,” she said, and he wasn’t sure he was imagining the sadness in her voice. He wondered if she, like he, was remembering how spirited and full of life Bran had been before his accident. It had been so long now and his brother had come to make peace with his condition. The time when he had just woken still haunted Robb though, and he still heard the words in his head as though they were uttered yesterday. _“I’d rather be dead.”_

“Everything was easy until it wasn’t anymore,” Myrcella said quietly, and he nodded his head, swallowing hard. “Looking back…” he trailed off, shaking his head, “this is where it all went wrong.” His eyes drifted towards the old tower, seeing the top of it rising up behind the armoury. “So many things went wrong,” she said, following his line of sight and tightening her grip on his arm ever so slightly. “And here we are,” Robb said softly, smiling slightly wryly. “Making it right.”

“Do you really think that?” she asked him curiously, and he turned his head so he could look down on her. “The Gods only know what would have happened if your grandfather and I had not signed that treaty,” he shook his head, “enough of my men died as it was, it will take many years for the North and the Riverlands to recover their full strength. The south too, I imagine,” he inclined his head to her and she nodded her agreement. “I have to believe the treaty saved something,” Robb continued, “I have to believe that it did more good than harm.”

“You got your sisters back,” Myrcella reminded him quietly, and he nodded his head in agreement. “Yes I did,” he agreed, “and I got you.” She was quiet for a moment, and he glanced down at her again, seeing her biting gently on her bottom lip. “And do I come under good, or harm?” she asked, looking up to meet his eyes. He smiled wryly at her, deciding to be honest. “I was always certain it would be the latter,” he admitted, “now though…well, now I am not so sure.” Her lips twitched up on one side at that before her attention was caught elsewhere. He followed her line of sight, seeing that Arya had emerged from the armoury. She had her sword on her hip and her arms folded as she stood on the step, the look in her eyes almost murderous as she looked towards him and Myrcella. “Well, I think you know the way to the tiltyard,” Robb said pointedly, “why don’t we go somewhere else?”

“As you wish, your Grace,” she replied, and he waited for her to place her hand back on his arm before setting off back down the alleyway. The wind seemed to have picked up even more, swirling Myrcella’s hair around her face as they emerged back into the courtyard. “Have you been to the glass gardens?” he asked her, thinking she might appreciate going somewhere more sheltered. “No,” she replied, and he led her in that direction at once. “I will show you around them,” he said, “likely we will both welcome the relief from this wind.”

“Will it snow soon?” she asked, looking up at him expectantly. “The first snows are already falling north of here,” he replied, “and there is always snow at the Wall. I expect we will get some light dustings soon enough, though it will be a while yet before it really begins to settle.” Myrcella nodded at that, a rather thoughtful expression on her face. Robb wondered what she was thinking, but before he could ask she was speaking again. “The Lady Arya isn’t impressed at my arrival, is she?” she asked him, and he couldn’t help but grimace slightly. “You noticed,” he said, not seeing any point in denying it. “A simpleton would notice,” Myrcella responded, and he snorted slightly. “Arya is…stubborn,” he struggled to find the right word, “like me perhaps, only far worse. She _will_ get used to you being here eventually, I can assure you of that.”

“Perhaps when we have been married five years?” Myrcella suggested wryly and he chuckled. “Perhaps,” he agreed with her, “though perhaps ten years would be a safer wager.” It was Myrcella’s turn to laugh at that. A real hearty and warm laugh. Oddly, Robb hadn’t expected it to sound that way. Perhaps because he had always assumed her a double of her mother, and there was never a time when he could imagine Cersei Lannister laughing. Not warmly, at any rate. “Here we are,” Robb said as they rounded into the corner of the grounds where the glass gardens stood. “They are heated like the keep?” Myrcella inquired, and he nodded in confirmation. “But made of glass to allow what little sunlight there is to aid growth?” she continued, and he nodded again.

“You seem well educated in our winter survival,” Robb noted as they approached the door to the glass gardens. “I have a vested interest,” she responded and he smiled, pulling open the door and gesturing for her to enter before him. “True enough,” he agreed with her, following her inside and closing the door firmly behind them. “Gods, it is even warmer than I expected in here,” she commented, moving her hands up to undo the clasps of her cloak. “Here, let me,” Robb held his hand out to take her discarded garment. “Thank you, your Grace,” she said as he took it and draped it over his arm. “You’re welcome,” he smiled for her, realising that it came easier now each time that he did it. She smiled back before she turned away from him to begin ambling along one of the rows, stopping every now and again to examine one of the plants.

“Is this only for the keep?” she finally asked him, and he nodded his head before elaborating his answer. “Seeds are sewn at different times, so the produce will be ripe at different times. There is usually a little too much of something or other, that is sent down to the market in Winter Town. Though, the last winter was so hard that we gave whatever we didn’t absolutely need away,” Robb explained to her, and she nodded slowly. “It must have been difficult, not being on the coast,” she commented, and he smiled slightly. “Indeed, having a settlement by the sea can be of great benefit in winter. Our only trade can come by road, and when the snows fall thickest it is impossible to get anywhere,” he said, “that is why we Starks have had to come up with our own methods of survival.”

“Well, you appear to be doing a marvellous job so far,” she said in a slightly teasing tone. Robb chuckled, and she smiled back at him, meeting his eyes for a moment before she moved to the end of the row and found the rough cut stone bench that lay there. She sat herself down and arranged her skirts, Robb watching for a moment before he hesitantly moved towards her. Vaguely he wondered if there would ever come a time when they would do things with one another without hesitating. It had been Myrcella before, uncertain of taking his arm, and now it was him, unsure whether or not he should sit himself at her side. He shook his head and moved even closer, draping her cloak over the back of the bench before he straightened his doublet. He slowly sat himself next to her, ensuring that his leg didn’t brush against hers as he did so, his eyes finding her hands delicately folded in her lap. Suddenly he was very aware of his own hands, and wondering what to do with them. She spoke up before he could ponder it too much.

“Did you mean what you said the other day?” she asked him, her voice quiet and almost fearful. He frowned slightly, wondering which conversation she was referring to. “I don’t -,” he started, but she seemed to sense his confusion, elaborating on her initial question before he could go on. “What you said about our children. Do you really think you wouldn’t be able to love them?” she asked, just as quietly. He sighed heavily, afraid to turn his head to the side so he could look at her. “Perhaps,” he said, hearing her sharp intake of breath. “But not because of you,” he continued, “not…not only because of you. I said what I did out of anger and spite, but the fear inside me is real. It is just not all your doing, as I said it was.”

“What then?” Myrcella asked him softly, and he took a deep breath. “For over three years I fought in wars. Battle after battle. I came up against men, dragons, even the dead. Countless lives have been lost at my sword. I have killed so many. I have watched so many die,” he cut off, shaking his head. Myrcella said nothing, clearly sensing that he had not finished. “In the end I felt nothing,” he went on, “in the end it became normal. It was nothing, the way it would feel to sink a sword into a man. Dying screams. How it sounded when a man choked on his own blood. It was nothing. It washed over me like water. When it first started I _felt_ it when I ended someone’s life. I felt _something,_ remorse perhaps?” he shrugged. “I don’t know exactly, but it was _something._ I had compassion, it would keep me awake at night and torment me. Did those men have wives, children? Someone waiting for them at home, someone who would miss them? I don’t know when I stopped caring, but I did.”

“I don’t believe that,” Myrcella said quietly after a long moment of silence, and he turned his head to contemplate her. “That you don’t care,” she elaborated as their eyes met. “You started a war all those years ago _because_ you care. You signed that treaty with my grandfather because you care more for your men and your people than you do for your own happiness. In the end…you fought death itself. Those _things_ you battled were not real, not anymore. Perhaps you stopped caring then because there was nothing left in them to care about. Death to them, _real_ , final death was a mercy. A relief. You sent them back to the Gods they were stolen from and allowed their souls to rest easy again. I will never believe that you don’t care, not when I can see what your family means to you. What your people mean to you.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?” he smiled slightly wryly at her and she blinked slowly, her eyes huge on his. “How can I not?” she shrugged her shoulder. “If the Gods bless us with children I have no doubt that you will love them,” she kept her eyes on his, “I know you would have preferred them to have a different mother, but they may well be the best of us both. And no matter what, they will be Starks, they will be _yours_ just as much as they are mine. I know what you think of the Lannister blood, and I know that will not change but…but our children will be your family, and I know how much you love your family.”

“I should never have blamed you for how I feel inside,” Robb told her honestly, and she smiled slightly. “Neither can you deny that I am part of the problem,” she said, arching one of her brows. “You are far less of a problem than I imagined you to be,” he replied and she laughed lightly. “That is high praise indeed, your Grace,” she said and he could feel a slight blush on his cheeks. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that,” he said awkwardly, “forgive me, princess. I am no southern knight, I do not have a pretty way with words.”

“I would rather hear honest words from you than pretty false ones,” Myrcella said, “do not worry about offending me, your Grace. I have lived at the Capitol all my life, you do not survive there unless you learn not to be affected by something as simple as words.” Robb smiled slightly at that, considering her for a long moment. “Some words can cut more deeply than the sharpest sword. I shouldn’t have spoken the way I did the other day, I confess I only uttered them because I was angry with myself. Angry because you were nothing like my imagination told me you would be, and for some inexplicable reason I wanted you to be,” he confessed to her, feeling a weight lifted from him as the words left his mouth. “A monster, you mean?” she arched that brow again and he nodded. “Aye,” he confirmed.

“I thought you would despise me, I was well prepared for it,” Myrcella said lightly, and he smiled wryly. “I thought I would despise you too,” he didn’t see the point in lying to her about it. “And yet here I find myself sat with you, enjoying your company,” he continued, smiling at her. “It’s almost as though we’re friends,” she smiled back at him. “Perhaps that would be a good place to start,” he said, and she nodded her head slowly. “A very good place,” she agreed with him. Hesitantly Robb reached out for her hand, and she slowly moved her own to place in his. He wrapped his fingers over so they covered the back of her hand, and she did the same, her soft fingertips whispering against his skin. “Since we are friends, I think you ought to stop addressing me so formally,” he smiled and she returned it, nodding her head slightly.

Without thinking he squeezed her hand a little more tightly, realising that he liked the feel of her skin on his. It was soft and warm and delicate, everything that he had tried to convince himself that she would never be. When he had imagined her he had always imagined her mother. Poised and cold and unfeeling. Myrcella was poised, that he could not deny, but she was also warm, and from what he had observed and heard from her so far, she was far from unfeeling. Guilt nagged at his stomach, and he wished he could be a little braver and explain everything to her properly. Somehow he knew that she wouldn’t judge him for his feelings. She seemed to understand everything far better than he had any right to expect her to. Her expectations had been as low as his own, and yet now they were sat contentedly a mere inch apart with their hands clasped in one another’s. It was hardly burning, unyielding passion, but it was a start. A far better start than Robb had ever anticipated.

Friendship. What better way to start than establishing that? He could get to know her better, ask her questions, and he would encourage her to do the same to him. Tentatively he stroked his thumb over the back of her hand, his eyes seeking out hers as he did so. “I am sorry that I misjudged you, Myrcella,” he said sincerely. It wasn’t all that he wanted to say, but it would have to do for now. She seemed to understand, her eyes soft on his as she smiled slightly. “You’re forgiven, Robb.”


	8. VII: Sharper than Swords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos, much appreciated. 
> 
> Also, thank you to Ms Moon21 for the comment, yes they are trying and both realising that the other isn't as scary as they probably first imagined. They still have progress to make, but they are getting there. Glad you're enjoying the pairing, and I hope you enjoy the update.
> 
> :)

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

 

When Myrcella woke she lay still in bed for a long while, just reassuring herself that the events of the previous day had actually happened. Robb, as she had been encouraged to call him now, had been ever so courteous and polite to her. And _honest._ It was the honesty that she appreciated more than anything else, the truth coming from him easily because she had asked him for it. He had not tried to coddle her or make excuses, he had just told her everything honestly, and that meant more than a thousand pretty words ever could. Another lady, she imagined, would have preferred a reassuring lie, but not her. She wanted the truth, even if it hurt, and she could not deny that his innermost feelings and fears about their potential children stung. She couldn’t blame him. Joffrey had been a monster, why would he want a child of his to share that blood? It was just her misfortune that he had been her brother, that they had shared a mother and a father. Even dead he was still managing to make her life as difficult as possible.

She shoved the furs away from her, determined that she would not continue thinking of Joffrey. He had been cold for years, she was not going to let him continue his torment after all this time. She was determined just to think of Robb and his family. Already she seemed to have made good progress with Bran and Lady Stark, and she and Sansa had always had an understanding. Rickon seemed shy, though he had managed to smile tentatively at her on a few occasions. It was Arya who was the problem. It was quite clear that she did not like Myrcella one bit, and she was unsure how she was supposed to convince Robb’s sister otherwise. She had hoped, perhaps naively, that if Arya saw that she was getting along better with Robb then she herself might thaw. Alas, it appeared to have done the opposite.

Arya had glowered all through dinner after Robb had changed the seating arrangements so Myrcella was sat to his right. Lady Stark had been happy to move down a space, and Myrcella had been quietly thrilled when Robb had pulled out her chair for her. They had spent the evening in contented conversation with one another, speaking of nothing of much importance. Myrcella couldn’t help but think that the occasion had been soured for her somewhat by Arya’s attitude, however. Each time Myrcella saw her in her line of sight she was scowling, and whenever she and Robb shared a laugh with one another her expression turned murderous. Robb had told her quietly not to let it bother her, but Myrcella couldn’t help it. Was she supposed to just ignore it forever? It was not as though she had _asked_ to come here, she was just making the best of the situation that had been thrust upon her.

Myrcella knew well enough that each and every one of the Starks had reason to despise her or her family, but if the others were willing to make an effort then why wouldn’t Arya? She huffed in irritation, lacing up the bodice of her dress before snatching up her brush from the vanity, pulling it through her hair furiously. Today she would not stand for it, somehow she would have to show Arya that she was not the monster she most likely imagined her to be. Robb had seen it, and by his own admission he was stubborn. Though, by his own admission, Arya was even worse. Myrcella sighed heavily and decided not to dwell on it, placing her brush back down on the vanity before snatching up her stole and heading for the door.

Down the hallways she went, making her way to the main stairs that would take her down towards the dining hall. She had learned all the main routes around the keep by now, several of them she must have remembered because she had just instinctively known where to go. Robb had only had to steer her right a few times the day before when he had been showing her around everywhere. The only place they hadn’t gone was the crypts. Myrcella had asked him if he would prefer for her not to go down there. He had told her that she was welcome to go wherever she pleased, but that he himself did not have the stomach to enter the crypts. From that she knew that he was still mourning the loss of his father, he didn’t need to say it. It was obvious. Just as his mother’s choice of black clothing was obvious. The loss here was still real, even after all the years that had passed.

Into the dining hall she went, her eyes immediately going to scan the high table. It was empty aside from Sansa and her husband. They were sat at one end of it, their elder daughter sat in Ser Olyvar’s lap as Sansa leant in towards them and fussed over her. Myrcella imagined that baby Raya must be with her nurse. She was loath to disturb what was evidently a private family breakfast, but her stomach was snarling with hunger. Slowly she made her way up to the high table, intending to sit on the opposite end to Sansa and her family. Her future good-sister looked up as she came closer though, sending her a wide smile. “Myrcella, come and join us,” she said warmly, “I do not think you have yet met Olyvar, and I know you haven’t met Bethany.”

“Thank you. I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Myrcella replied, glancing towards Ser Olyvar and seeing that he was wearing a relaxed smile. “Of course not,” Sansa shook her head at once, and Myrcella moved to take the empty seat next to her. “Can I pour you some wine, princess?” Ser Olyvar enquired and Myrcella smile. “Thank you, Ser,” she responded, and he smiled back, moving to pour her a glass. Little Bethany in his lap leaned forwards to try and snatch at the flagon as he moved it back down to settle on the table, a determined grunt leaving her. “You are a little too young for wine, my dear,” Ser Olyvar said in an amused tone, settling the flagon well out of her reach. “She is into absolutely everything at the moment,” Sansa said exasperatedly, but Myrcella didn’t miss the affection underlying her tones. “She’s utterly beautiful,” Myrcella told her honestly, and Sansa seemed to glow at the compliment.

Myrcella shifted slightly in her seat so she could fill her plate with breakfast, smiling slightly as Bethany began to babble away. If she strained her ears she could decipher at least every other word. Sansa and her husband seemed to understand her perfectly though, both chattering happily back to her. Myrcella was so pleased to see for herself how happy Sansa was. It had been after the dragons had come and were defeated that news had come that Sansa had been married to Robb’s old squire. The match had placated the Freys somewhat, it was some consolation for them that they were once again married into royalty. Of course, they had desired a Frey woman in Myrcella’s place, but her grandfather had flooded the Twins with gold to make old Walder relinquish his desire for a Frey queen. Myrcella had wondered, all those years ago, whether Sansa’s match was a love match or if it were a political one.

Robb was also King in the Riverlands of course, and he would have to maintain good relations with them. Marrying his sister into one of the most prominent families would certainly do that. Seeing them together though, Myrcella suspected that it was not a political decision. There was clear love between them. She could see it in the way they looked at one another. The way they spoke to one another, and in the way they were with their daughter. She smiled slightly and began on her breakfast. If anyone deserved to marry for love it was Sansa. She vaguely wondered if the older woman had ever told her family the extent to which Joffrey made her suffer at the Capitol, if she had confided it to them, or perhaps to her husband. Myrcella hoped that she had confided in someone, it did no good to keep such things hidden inside. She knew that well enough.

“A letter came for you today,” Sansa’s voice pulled her away from her thoughts and away from her breakfast. “For me?” Myrcella repeated, wondering who would have written. Tommen? Her mother? She had sent word of her safe arrival when she had settled in on that first day. It seemed that someone had decided to reply to her after all. “Robb took it,” Sansa told her, “he said he would make sure you got it, in case no one was here when you came down to break your fast.”

“How thoughtful of him,” Myrcella smiled slightly, ashamed at the slight feeling of uneasiness that crept into her stomach. Of course Robb would give her the letter, he would not have told everyone that he would otherwise, would he? They had agreed yesterday that it was always best to be truthful with one another. She bit her lip, wondering if he would read the letter. Surely he wouldn’t. She would know if he had anyway, he would have to break the seal, and there was no way that he could reseal it without her noticing. She shook her head slightly. It did no good to have suspicions like this. Suspicions like this belonged in the Capitol, not up here in the North. This was an honest country, she knew that just as well as she knew that the grass grew green. It was foolish to think otherwise. She would see Robb later and he would give her the letter, and that would be the end of that.

* * *

 

Myrcella had done her best to find Robb, without actually telling anyone that she was looking for him. It was to no avail though, he was in none of the public places that she could go, and if she went to his study or to the council chambers then he would know that she was looking for him. Eventually she gave up, deciding that he would find her whenever he had a free moment. It was easy sometimes to forget that he was a king, and she knew well enough that he would have extra responsibilities now that winter was on the way again. She sighed as she made her way outside, her eyes finding one of the direwolves. It was the black one, Rickon’s if she remembered rightly. She had yet to meet any of the others and it had confused her. Lady Stark told her that Robb had kept them away from her sight on purpose, in case she were averse to them.

While Myrcella was touched at the thoughtfulness she did want to tell him that there was no need. Everyone knew the tales, Robb and his own wolf, Grey Wind, had been nigh on inseparable throughout the war. He had gone into battle with the beast at his side, and had it not been for the wolf’s interjection then that dragon may well have finished him off. Myrcella shuddered involuntarily at the thought, refusing to dwell on why. That thought would only lead to more confusion, and her head was already full of a thousand and one contradicting thoughts. _If I care for him, will I be betraying my family?_ She shook her head, forcing the thought away as she came to a halt by the flickering lamps that stood on either side of the entrance to the crypt. Robb had said she was welcome to enter them, but she was still wary, casting a nervous look about her before taking a breath and slipping inside.

The light was dim, and for a moment she was blind until she blinked everything slowly back into focus. It was cold here, and the air seemed heavy. When she took a breath it all smelled damp and musty. There was a steady drip of water that calmed her nerves somewhat as she took the steps down one at a time. When she reached the even ground again she glanced ahead of her. Alcoves lined the walls, each one with a flickering lamp lit above it and an effigy placed atop the stone slab. The first of them were kings from long ago, before the dragons had come the first time. Myrcella’s footsteps echoed ominously as she walked further, going passed king after king until she came upon Torrhen. The King who kneeled. She could hardly blame him. She had seen the skulls of the first dragons, it was not hard to imagine the bodies that had come with them. The wings. The fire. She shuddered again and walked away from Torrhen.

Now came lord after lord. She walked slowly, inspecting their carved effigies. Even though they were made of stone she could see the familiarity between them. She could tell that they had all been kin. When she came upon Lord Rickard Stark she paused, knowing who would be coming next. She took a breath, appreciating now why Robb had not wanted to show her this place. It was bad enough for her, and she had barely known Lord Stark. She forced her feet onwards, having come this far she wanted to reach the end, to pay her respects whether they would be appreciated or not. She walked slowly passed Brandon Stark and Lyanna Stark, remembering that Robb’s father had broken tradition by having them buried here in the crypts. Then he himself came, the engraving more freshly carved and easy to read than the others had been.

Myrcella looked up at the effigy, smiling slightly as she saw how well his likeness had been carved. It was fine stonework, whoever had crafted it was obviously skilled indeed. Her fingers went to trace the words, wondering vaguely if they had been chipped into the stone by the same man. “Don’t you dare touch that,” the voice was low and threatening and Myrcella moved her hand away at once. She swallowed hard and turned away from Lord Stark’s resting place to find herself face to face with his younger daughter. “Forgive me,” she said at once, “I meant no offence, my lady.”

“What are you doing here?” Arya’s voice was at once scathing and suspicious, and Myrcella knew that she would likely not be leaving this place on friendly terms with her. She could try though, surely? There could be no harm in trying. “I was just paying my respects, Robb said it would be alright,” Myrcella answered her, knowing at once that it was not what Arya had wanted to hear. Her grey eyes had flashed almost dangerously when she had uttered Robb’s name. “What do you know about respect, Lannister?” Arya practically spat the word and Myrcella had to force herself not to flinch away from her. “I know what my family has been guilty of, but I had no part in it Arya, you cannot think that I could condone –”

“Save your false courtesies,” Arya cut across her, “you may have my mother and the rest of them fooled, but you don’t fool me. Whatever game you have come here to play I will scupper it, you mark my words.” Myrcella frowned, hearing the threat in her tone but also something underlying it that sounded almost fearful. “Game?” Myrcella repeated, her frown sinking deeper into her forehead. “Don’t play innocent,” Arya scoffed, “Joffrey did the same when you were here last, wrapping Sansa up in his charm and twisting her around his fingers. I can see you doing the same to Robb, and I won’t let you do to him what Joffrey did to Sansa.”

“Joffrey was a monster,” Myrcella snapped, “he may have been my brother, but I am _nothing_ like him. Believe me, my lady, no one knows better than I what Joffrey did to Sansa. I was there, remember, I was with her at the Capitol the entire time. I saw things no child should see, and I would no doubt have seen a whole lot more if Joffrey hadn’t died when he did. You are not the only people who have suffered at his hands, no one was safe. Not even his own family.” With that Myrcella made to move passed Arya so she could leave the crypt, but her wrist was snatched almost painfully to stop her leaving. She wrenched it from Arya’s grip and stared at her. “Just stay away from here, let my father rest in peace,” Arya told her menacingly.

“I am not the enemy, Arya,” Myrcella implored her, “your father was always very kind to me. I know you won’t believe me, but I did not rejoice nor revel in his death. I was a child, a child who had just lost her own father.”

“Oh please,” Arya scoffed, rolling her eyes, “everyone in Westeros knows that your father is still well and truly alive.” Myrcella stared at that, she could do nothing else. She had heard the whispers and seen the looks. She wasn’t stupid, she knew what they said about her mother and her Uncle Jaime. Her nails dug hard into the palms of her hands as she clenched her fists tightly. Never had she thought that it would be thrown at her by a member of the Stark family. She had expected gossip from the servants, whispers and giggles hidden behind hands. That she could have dealt with. This. She shook her head slightly and turned on her heel, marching back through the crypts with her heart pounding in her ears.

Her eyes were stinging when she emerged back into daylight, a combination of her rising emotion and the sudden brightness of the outside world. She took deep breaths, determining to calm herself down as she slowly unclenched her fists. Her palms were stinging and she looked down vaguely, seeing that she had drawn blood from a few of the little crescents set into her skin. The pain was nothing though, just a vague sting that dulled into nothingness when compared to how hard Arya’s words had hit her. Had she said it out of spite? Or was that what they all secretly thought? What Robb thought? She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as tears threatened to spill from her, counting to ten over and over in her head. _“Close your eyes and cover your ears, count to ten slowly in your head and it will be over, Tommen. I promise you.”_

It had always calmed her brother, but it was not working for her now as Arya’s words resounded more and more loudly inside her head. A hand on her shoulder almost made her jump out of her skin, and she turned quickly, her eyes wide and shining. “Myrcella?” Robb’s voice was laced with concern and it was almost enough for her to surrender to the tears. She wondered if he would comfort her, if he would go so far as to put his arms around her. Her eyes took in the vastness of him. He was not the tallest man but he had over a head on her, but what he lacked in height he made up for in bulk. It was muscle, she knew, not fat the way her father always denied he was. _Her father_. Just thinking that made her want to break down and cry. Robb’s hand came under her chin and she flinched slightly without meaning to. _“You have a pretty enough face now, but do you imagine any man wanting a scarred bride?!”_ She shuddered, blinking away the flash of silver.

“Myrcella, has something happened? Has someone hurt you?” Robb’s tone was soft but insistent and she shook her head automatically. Her eyes found Arya emerging from the crypts and she swallowed hard, averting them back to Robb and hoping that he hadn’t noticed her momentary distraction. She ought to have known that he would have, he seemed incredibly astute at times. This appeared to be one of those times. He turned to look over his shoulder, doubtless seeing Arya disappearing around the corner. “What did she say to you?” he asked her in a slightly exasperated manner when he turned back to face her. Myrcella swallowed, wondering how honest she should be with him. If she told him the whole truth then she would be bringing up the unspoken subject of the rumours of her parentage. She wasn’t sure she was ready for that yet, but on the other hand, she couldn’t ignore it forever. It was already nagging at her now that Arya had broached the subject, and she was desperate to know what Robb thought of it.

“I went down to the crypts,” Myrcella answered him, “I explained that you had given me leave but…but I suppose it was just my bad luck that she came across me as I reached where your father rests.” Understanding crossed Robb’s features, and for a moment it looked as though he wanted to step closer to her. He stood his ground though, and Myrcella knew that it was very wrong of her to have wanted him closer. She swallowed, remembering the warmth of his hand and thinking about how easily she would be lost in his embrace. _“…hear me now, you must never, ever show him any weakness. No tears. No affection.”_ What if her mother was wrong? It was no secret that her marriage was an unhappy one, Myrcella had even heard some rather disturbing rumours that she had engineered her father’s accident. She pushed it away. It did no good to think of things like that. Not now. Not now when she needed to focus on Robb.

“I can well imagine,” he said sympathetically, and she smiled weakly for him. “I’m not sure it endeared me to her, but I’m fine, I promise you,” she tried to sound reassuring. _My first lie to him, and we are not even wed yet._ “I can tell you don’t want to tell me everything,” he said knowingly, “and I won’t push you on it, but don’t promise me. Don’t lie.” _And he sees right through it. Through me._ “She mentioned my mother, and my uncle,” she blurted out before she could stop herself and Robb’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard the rumours, heard them whispered a thousand times,” Myrcella continued, unable to stop now. “I don’t know what the truth is, I only know what I have always been told. Robert Baratheon was my father, though I know well enough I favour my mother, I don’t…” she paused to take a deep breath. “I don’t know what is true and what is not, and it matters not to me either way. I would rather live in ignorance where this is concerned, but you…how does it make you feel?”

Robb stared at her intently for a long moment, and she could feel her hands begin to shake. Before she could clench them together to stop them he had taken them in his own. A frown creased his brow, and before she could snatch her hands away from him he had turned them over to inspect her palms. She swallowed hard as he raised his eyes from the marks to her eyes. “You did this to yourself…” he shook his head slightly. “Why?” he asked, the simple question setting her bottom lip trembling. “It’s just…” she shook her own head, trying to find the right words. “I used to try and keep Tommen from Joffrey, Joffrey was terrible to him. More terrible than he ever was to me, because he knew that Tommen would never fight back,” she explained. “So I had to fight back for him, to stand between them and shield him.”

“I don’t…” Robb tailed off, shaking his head, and Myrcella knew that he didn’t understand. “I wasn’t as fearless as I pretended to be,” she met his eyes, “only, I had to be or Joffrey would have just brushed me aside, or worse. If I didn’t do this,” she flexed her fingers to show him what she meant, “then my whole body would shake. It’s an instinct. A habit I haven’t been able to break. Whenever I’m scared, or whenever I feel my composure slipping I do it. It’s a reflex, I can’t help it. I don’t usually draw blood, but…” she trailed off, averting her eyes. “But what Arya said really upset you,” he finished for her, and she forced herself to meet his eyes again. “Part of me wanted to lash out,” she confessed, she didn’t seem to be able to help herself when she looked into his eyes. They made her want to confess all of her long buried secrets when she met them. “Believe me,” Robb smiled slightly, “you are neither the first nor the last person who has wanted to lash out at Arya.”

“You never answered my question,” she reminded him softly and his lips twitched up. “I thought it would bother me,” he said, “but whatever the truth is, whoever your parents are, I don’t care. Perhaps I should, but I don’t, not now that you’re here and I’m coming to know you. I will never make any secret of the fact that I despise your mother, but I know that you are nothing like her. I’m sorry to speak ill of your family in your presence, and I will try and refrain from it. Whatever they did to me, they are your kin and you doubtless have love for them. I will try and remember to consider that, as you will have to try and make allowances and considerations for Arya’s lack of tact. Or her outright rudeness, in this case. I will have a word with her, Myrcella. I am not ignorant to the fact that people talk, and I know that you aren’t either, but you should not have to face it from someone who will soon be kin to you.”

“Thank you, Robb, truly…thank you,” she nodded her head vigorously, still determined not to let the tears fall. “There is no need to thank me, it is the least I can do,” he said warmly, and she managed a smile for him, though the corners of her mouth twitched painfully with the effort. “A letter came for you today,” he continued, letting go of her hands so he could reach into his cloak to pull it out. “Perhaps I could escort you back to the keep and you can read it in peace?” he suggested, and she nodded, taking the letter he outstretched to her. He offered his arm once she had taken it, and she lay her hand on his forearm, falling into step with him as they crossed to the keep. As they walked she turned the letter in her hand and glanced down at the seal. It was the royal seal and it was shiny and unbroken. A tiny smile graced her lips as she took in the sight, and she felt incredibly foolish for ever doubting he would deliver it to her unopened.


	9. VIII: The First Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter for you all!
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos, and to those who left comments, it is much appreciated. Especially to purpleann, I'm sorry I made you cry real tears, but I'm so glad you're enjoying it!
> 
> :)

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

Robb smiled slightly as he leaned against the open doorway, his eyes keen as he watched Sansa rearranging Raya’s blankets around her before stepping closer to Myrcella. His soon-to-be wife seemed to hesitate a little, and he saw the slight shake in her hands as Sansa offered the baby to her. He could well understand her fear, he had been terrified when Sansa had first come to Winterfell to present Bethany to them. His niece had been so tiny that he had been afraid he might break her. She was not so tiny now, as she stamped around the nursery swinging one of her dolls rather more violently than he felt was necessary. His mother had called him ridiculous, reminding him that he had held all of his own siblings as babies. Robb was sure she was right, but he only really remembered holding Bran and Rickon, perhaps a vague memory of Arya. He had been a child then though, and he knew well enough that children did not have the same fears as grown men and women.

His eyes moved from Bethany and back to Myrcella as Sansa shifted Raya into her arms, again rearranging some of the blankets. It was a subconscious thing she did, Robb knew well enough, all mother’s he had seen did the same whenever the weather grew colder. Myrcella adjusted her grip slightly on the baby, and he could see how terrified she was from the way her body stiffened. “Just relax,” Sansa advised her softly, “she is only young. She won’t try and wriggle out of your arms just yet.” Robb knew that Sansa had been trying to soothe her with the words, but if anything Myrcella looked even more terrified. “They do that?” she asked in a slightly strangled voice and Robb had to bite back a laugh. “Robb almost dropped Bethany once,” Sansa told her in an amused tone and he scowled. “I did not,” he said indignantly, and the two women snapped their heads towards him at once.

“What’s this?” Olyvar’s voice came behind him. “Are you talking about the time Robb almost dropped Beth?” Olyvar clapped him on the back as he skirted round him to enter the nursery. “I did not,” Robb protested again as Sansa laughed. He narrowed his eyes at her, but looked away swiftly as Olyvar moved to greet her with a kiss. His old squire was one of his greatest friends, and he was truly pleased that his sister had found love and happiness. However, that did not mean that he enjoyed seeing them being amorous with one another. Arya teased him mercilessly about it, asking him how he imagined two daughters had been delivered to their sister. She had been avoiding him recently though, no doubt she was trying to avoid Myrcella. He was still irked with her for what she had said to his betrothed, and he had told her never to speak to her in such a way again. Arya had been unimpressed, and had barely spoken two words to him since.

_“I know you mean well, Arya, but you cannot speak to her that way. She is a princess, and she deserves your respect at the very least,” he scolded her. “I am not asking you to like her. I am not even asking you to spend any time with her. I am merely asking you to hold your tongue, please, for me?” Arya stared up at him, the expression in her eyes almost murderous. “Princess?” she repeated mockingly. “Gods, she really has got you right where she wants you hasn’t she, Robb? What happened to you? Have you just forgotten about everything that happened due to the Lannisters because she has pretty hair and looks nice in a dress?!” His own gaze turned cold at that, and he glared at his younger sister. “It matters not who her parents are, I have judged her on her own character,” he snarled at her, “and I will not warn you again. Leave Myrcella alone, she is not to be held accountable for the crimes of others.”_

“Are you alright, Robb?” Sansa’s voice snapped him out of his daze and he smiled for her, nodding faintly. “I was just thinking, that’s all,” he said reassuringly, and she returned his smile. “I expect you have much to think about, mother was asking me for thoughts on the wedding feast. Is there anything that either of you have a specific preference for?” Sansa looked between Robb and Myrcella expectantly. “Oh…I, uhm, I will eat most things. I would hate for any unnecessary trouble to be gone to,” Myrcella spoke up, her eyes flickering between him and Sansa. While he and Myrcella had fallen into a rather easy friendship they very rarely made any mention of their coming nuptials. They could hardly avoid the notion forever, the ceremony was set to take place a mere week from now. “I hope you have not been giving mother ideas,” Robb sighed heavily, “if I hear any more talk about sixteen courses I will ban you from helping her.”

“Sixteen?” Olyvar repeated. “What did we have? Four?” he looked at Sansa for her answer. “Yes,” she confirmed, “though our wedding did take place in the depths of winter.” Olyvar murmured his agreement at that, his attention caught by Bethany pulling on the ties of his boot. “And mine and Myrcella’s wedding is taking place as winter is about to set in again. I told her, eight is my limit, even that is too much if you ask me,” Robb said with a roll of his eyes, and Sansa smirked at him. “Tommen had thirty-eight,” Myrcella said quietly, and they all turned to stare at her. “Thirty-eight?” Olyvar and Robb repeated in a scandalized tone, Sansa biting down on her lip to no doubt stop herself from laughing. “It was in the summer,” Myrcella defended at once, “we weren’t to know then how brief it was going to be.”

“Thirty-eight?” Olyvar repeated again. “And did you sample all of them?” his good-brother’s tone was almost longing and Robb rolled his eyes, sharing a knowing look with Sansa. “Not all of them,” Myrcella smiled, “over half though, I would wager. But only a little from each. It does no good for a lady to over-indulge, or so Etta used to tell me anyway.” She glanced towards Robb then, and he could see her features beginning to relax. No doubt she had been on edge when the talk of their wedding had been sprung upon them. He hoped it was only because she was worried about he would react to it, and not because she herself were dreading it. “A royal wedding, Robb. Perhaps you ought to up your number,” Olyvar grinned at him and he rolled his eyes. “Ah yes, but my future good-brother rules over six regions, I myself can only claim two,” he said in an amused tone.

“Then what is a quarter of thirty-eight?” Sansa asked, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Nine,” Myrcella answered, “and a half,” she added, grinning at Robb as he shot her a dark look. “We may as well round that to ten,” Olyvar said matter-of-factly and Robb huffed at him. “Or we can just keep it to eight,” Myrcella smiled, “I think we have teased him enough for one day.” Robb sent her a grateful look and she inclined her head slightly. Her attention was caught from him as Raya began to grumble in her arms, a fleeting look of panic crossing her features before she rocked the baby slightly, hushing her gently. Robb smiled slightly as his younger niece began to quiet again. “I don’t know what you were worried about,” Sansa directed towards Myrcella, “you are a natural.”

“Thank you,” Myrcella smiled widely at Sansa before her attention went back to Raya. Sansa in turn looked towards Robb and sent him a knowing look. He smiled slightly, knowing well enough what the look was for. No doubt their mother had told Sansa all about the terrible things he had uttered about Myrcella and their future children. It still made him cringe to remember them, beyond ashamed at how hateful he had been. It seemed impossible now, as he gazed at Myrcella intently, to think that it had not been that long ago that he had harboured such deep resentment towards her. “Olyvar,” he spoke up, remembering something, “I am glad we’re all here together, there is something I would ask of you – should Myrcella be agreeable.”

“Anything,” Olyvar said easily and Robb smiled at him. “I wondered if you would be the one to escort Myrcella to the Godswood. By tradition it ought to be her father, but obviously that is impossible. In his place it ought to be a member of my own family. Rickon is too shy to conduct what is necessary, and Bran is unable, though I know if he were he would be more than willing,” he nodded towards Myrcella at that point, seeing her incline her head in response. “It doesn’t seem right to ask my mother or sisters, so I wondered if you would be willing?”

“Of course, it would be my honour,” Olyvar bowed his head between the pair of them. “If the princess is willing of course,” Olyvar continued, and all eyes moved to Myrcella. “Of course I am, thank you,” she said gratefully, and the two of them shared a smile. Robb himself was relieved, he had thought to ask one of his lords when they began to arrive, but he wasn’t sure how any of them would take it. If his bride had been anyone else then he imagined they would see it as a great honour. With it being Myrcella though…Well, imagining the look on Lord Karstark’s face had been enough to persuade him against that particular idea. Olyvar made sense, he was a Ser and a member of Robb’s own family. He had also spent enough time with Myrcella to know her true nature, and doubtless she herself would be more comfortable with him than being escorted by one of his lords that she was yet to meet.

* * *

“You are wise beyond your years, do you know that?” Robb smiled as he and Myrcella ambled along the gravel path. “What makes you say that?” she asked him curiously, a hint of a smile playing about her own lips. “I sometimes forget how young you are, younger even than Arya, when I speak to you I…” he tailed off, suddenly uncertain of what he should say. “You what?” she prompted him curiously, nudging him in the ribs slightly with her elbow. Her action made him grin, she was becoming far less proper with him by the day. “Your courtesies are deserting you more and more with each passing day,” he commented with a smirk and she giggled lightly. “Perhaps I am turning savage,” she said teasingly, to which it was his turn to laugh. “Do not change the subject,” she chided him after a moment of quiet. “What were you going to say?”

“I don’t know if I have the right words,” he confessed to her and she slowed her steps so they both came to a halt. “You told me that you didn’t have a pretty way with words, and I told you I would prefer honest ones, remember?” she arched one brow in the way that she seemed to reserve just for him, the sight of it making him smile slightly. “I can imagine the queen you will be,” he said after considering her for a long moment. “I do not think you will be content to sit beside me and smile serenely, you have strong opinions, and I do not want to repress them.” Both her brows were raised at that, and she opened and closed her mouth a few times before she seemed to find a reply to him. “What does that mean? That you would consider my council?” she asked him, an almost hopeful look shining in her eyes.

“If you want honest words from me, then I want the same from you. On all matters, whether they be personal to the pair of us, to our family, or if they concern the kingdoms. Don’t ever be afraid to speak your mind. I may not always like it, but I won’t ever command you not to,” he promised her, his hand finding hers. This time she slowly moved her hand so that her fingers could lace with his and he swallowed hard. He didn’t remember them standing this close before, facing one another with a mere inch between them. Her breath had quickened, he could see it in the air as the temperature was so cold now. His own appeared to be stuck in his throat, even though his heart was hammering against his chest. Slowly he leaned in closer. Only an inch, to gauge her reaction. She didn’t pull away, if anything she leaned in a fraction more. He licked his lips nervously, seeing her own part slightly as though in anticipation. He vaguely wondered if a man had ever kissed her before. His own stomach was clenched tightly as though it was his first time all over again.

Just as he had made his mind up to just lean in and press his lips to hers he heard his mother’s exasperated shout coming from the other side of the gardens. With a sigh he pulled back slightly, glancing back towards Myrcella and seeing that she had averted her eyes. In the next moment she slipped her hand from his grasp, moving it back to settle on his arm. He was irritated at that, his hand feeling oddly colder without the contact of her soft skin. “There you are!” his mother sounded half relieved and half irritated. “Sansa is waiting with the seamstress, your dress is ready,” she directed toward Myrcella. “Oh!” Myrcella put her free hand to her forehead. “Of course, it is today…I plain forgot, my lady, I am so sorry!”

“There is no matter, just run along there now, I will join you in a moment,” his mother said kindly, and Myrcella slipped her hand from his arm. “I will see you at dinner,” she met his eyes, and he inclined his head, an amused smile twitching at his lips as he could almost see her forcing herself not to drop into a curtsey. When it was just the two of them she was never formal anymore, but as soon as his mother was around she seemed to want to revert back to all her southern courtesies. “See you at dinner,” he replied, and she gave him a swift smile and bowed her head before picking up her skirts slightly and half running in the direction of the keep. “You put her on edge,” Robb told his mother in an amused tone. “I don’t mean to,” his mother replied, and he grinned. “I know you don’t,” he chuckled, offering her the arm Myrcella had just dropped.

“Did I interrupt you?” she asked knowingly as they resumed the walk he had been intending to enjoy with his future wife. “We were just going for a turn around the gardens,” he replied simply, and she hummed in a rather suspicious manner. “Myrcella had quite the blush on her cheeks,” she commented and he rolled his eyes. “It will be the chill in the air,” he said dismissively, and he could have sworn his mother snorted slightly. “Nothing happened,” he said indignantly, to which his mother hummed again. “Would it have? If I had not interrupted you?” she needled at him and he huffed in an irritable manner. “I don’t really know if I want to have this conversation with you,” he said pointedly, but she seemed unperturbed. “Robb, I am your mother,” she scoffed, “you have never been able to lie to me.”

“I am four and twenty,” he reminded her, and she squeezed his arm affectionately. “Yes, yes, you are a man grown, and a king too, but I am still your mother. Talk to me,” she commanded him, and he sighed in defeat. “I had thought to kiss her,” he finally admitted, refusing to look at his mother. He just knew that there would be a triumphant expression on her face. “Indeed,” she said simply, but he could hear the underlying smugness in her tone. “I do not want to hear it,” he warned her, though he couldn’t quite keep the trace of amusement from his own voice. “Hear what?” she asked him innocently. “I told you so,” he replied simply.

“I am just glad that you have given her a chance,” his mother said seriously, “and even more glad that the two of you are getting on so well. I know it won’t always be easy, but you’re both doing wonderfully. I see you together sometimes and I can almost imagine that the two of you are a love match, rather than a political one.” Robb turned and narrowed his eyes at her slightly at that. “Do not get ahead of yourself,” he muttered. Yes, he enjoyed Myrcella’s company. And yes, as a man, he desired her. How could he not? But love? That was something else entirely. “Oh, you know what I mean,” his mother said exasperatedly, and he shook his head. “I enjoy spending time with her, and I am sure she will make a pleasing wife and queen, but that is all I can allow at this moment, mother,” he told her, unable to stop the slightly warning tones creeping in.

“That is far more than you had even considered even a moon ago,” she reminded him, and he nodded his agreement. “I know,” he voiced it, “and I know you were right. I should never have judged her before I met her, it only serves to make me guiltier the more I come to know her.” His mother patted his arm affectionately in response. “It takes a real man to admit his mistakes,” she said, “and I have no doubt that you have made your apology to her. Leave it in the past where it belongs. In only a few days you will be husband and wife, make your wedding day a real fresh start and forget all of the apprehension and the ugly words that have been spoken.”

“I will,” he vowed, “but the apprehension and ugly words have not been all my own.” His mother sighed heavily at that, and he knew that she had understood his meaning. “Arya,” she said in a tired manner, and he nodded his agreement. “I wonder if she will even come to the wedding,” he muttered, and his mother applied more pressure to his arm. “She is your sister, whatever feelings she has towards Myrcella she will put them aside and support you, Robb, I am sure of it,” she said with conviction, and Robb wished he could believe her. “Are you?” he asked sceptically.

“Arya is as stubborn as a mule. Both your father and I could be on occasion, she appears to have taken the trait from both of us. I sometimes wonder if her being out in the wilds away from us for so long took more of a toll on her than she would have us believe. She certainly harbours more resentment inside her than the rest of us. I know you had your fair share,” she nodded towards him, and he inclined his head. “But,” she continued, “you somehow found it inside you to accept Tywin’s deal. You got some kind of peace from Joffrey’s death. Some justice. Just as Sansa did, as I did…but Arya…Arya still seems to lust after more. She is vengeful still, Robb, sometimes so much so that she scares me with it. And to her, Myrcella is just a symbol of everything she has despised for so long. But she _loves_ you, and she will not spoil your day, I will make sure of that.”

* * *

“Where are we going? I thought you were escorting me back to my chamber,” Myrcella sounded simultaneously excited and suspicious, and he smiled slightly. “I was going to,” he confirmed, “but then something outside caught my eye, and I’d like you to see it.” She hummed suspiciously, reminding him eerily of his mother out in the gardens earlier in the day. “How was your dress? I never got the chance to ask you at dinner, you were so busy gossiping with Sansa and my mother,” he said exasperatedly and she turned her head and narrowed her eyes at him. “I was not gossiping,” she said indignantly, “we were merely speaking about the wedding and how much there still is to prepare. But my dress was fine, only minor adjustments needed.”

“Good,” he smiled, “I cannot wait to see you in it.” He took himself aback with the sincerity of his words, and he saw Myrcella’s eyes widen in barely disguised surprise. “And what about you?” she asked as they waited for the guards to let them out of the keep. “Will you be wearing your usual black or will you be wearing something with a little colour?” she asked him with that arched brow, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Would you have me in bright colours and adorned with jewels when we are married, princess?” he asked her mockingly and she scowled at him. “A little colour would do you no harm. What about blue? It would go with your eyes,” she suggested and he snorted slightly. “I’m sure,” he said drily, leading her through the doors which the guards held open for them. “For the wedding I had thought to wear grey, as a Stark,” he inclined his head and she smiled. “And my mother insisted I ought to at least match your cloak,” he rolled his eyes at her and she laughed.

Her laughter cut off though as they left the keep, and he turned to see her eyes wide again. “The first real snow of the winter,” he gestured out into the night air where snowflakes were falling slowly from the sky. “It’s so beautiful,” she said wonderingly, reaching her hand out to catch one of the flakes as they descended the steps. “You act as though you have never seen it before,” he chuckled, and she slapped his arm lightly in response. “I have never seen it like this before,” she said wonderingly, “the snow we had at the Capitol was always so light and powdery. This is _real_ snow.”

She slipped her hand from his arm and walked several steps in front of him, outstretching one of her hands to catch another flake. Robb couldn’t help but watch her intently as she brought her hand closer to her face to examine the flake. “Will it settle?” she asked him almost longingly. “Do you wish it to?” he asked in response, and she turned and smiled sheepishly at him. “Not forever,” she elaborated, “it’s just, mother never allowed us to go out during the winter. Not properly at least. Tommen and I were never allowed to play in the snow, though we saw other children out there. They would build forts and throw snowballs at one another from behind them.”

“We may have done that,” Robb grinned at her and she beamed back at him. “And Rickon, bless him and his patience, built six direwolves from it out in the gardens. They stood there for a good week, until more flurries came and made them unrecognisable.” Myrcella’s smile only widened at that, and she came back towards him, her eyes wide and shining. “Why have you never introduced me to Grey Wind?” she asked him tentatively, cocking her head to one side. “I didn’t know you had a desire to meet him,” he answered her, and she frowned slightly. “He’s important to you,” she said pointedly, “and I have only ever seen glimpses of him around the grounds.”

“At first, I suppose I didn’t want you to share him with me,” he admitted to her, seeing her expression more understanding than hurt. “And now?” she pressed him gently. “And now I know you better, and I see no reason why you shouldn’t be introduced. If you would really like to be,” he smiled at her, seeing her return the gesture easily. “I would,” she said simply, and he reached out for her hand. “Then perhaps he can accompany us on our walk tomorrow?”

“Our final walk unmarried,” she observed, and he swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of her hand in his. “Indeed,” he agreed, his mouth suddenly incredibly dry. She said nothing else, and neither did he, simply brushing his thumb lightly up and down the skin on the back of her hand. It seemed to calm his pounding heart enough for him to be able to meet her eyes once more. “I see you have still not had any gloves made,” he rolled his eyes at her. “My hand is perfectly warm,” she returned, mimicking his gesture. “And what of the other one?” he enquired, holding his other hand out for it. She placed it in his with a sigh and he grinned at her. “Not quite frozen yet,” he remarked and she shook her head at him. He merely grinned again before bringing her hand further towards him and bending his head to press his lips to the back of it.

“That was very courteous of you, your Grace,” she said teasingly when he raised his head again. “It saved me from doing something rather uncourteous,” he returned before he could stop himself, seeing a blush rise up on her cheeks even in the darkness. “That same uncourteous thing your mother stopped you from doing out in the gardens?” she asked him, her voice barely more than a whisper. “The very same,” he returned, dropping one of her hands and hesitantly moving his fingers to stroke gently down her cheek. “I wouldn’t mind,” she told him, her cheeks even more flushed. He smiled in response before allowing the tips of his middle finger and his forefinger to rest on her lower lip. “I’m glad,” he said, smiling widely at her, “but as tempting as you are, I will resist until we are joined under the heart tree. I cannot give you any more reasons to name me a savage.”

 


	10. IX: One Final Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! The wedding is creeping closer, but not quite upon us yet.
> 
> I will be posting a short interlude chapter from the Capitol mid-week, and the actual wedding chapter next weekend as usual, so you won't have to wait too long for it! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left kudos, and to those who commented. I believe one of you asked about Jon. Yes, he will be making an appearance, but not for a while yet I'm afraid. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you all so much. Hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> :)

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

 

_“…as tempting as you are, I will resist until we are joined under the heart tree. I cannot give you any more reasons to name me a savage.”_ Myrcella woke up with a lazy smile and Robb’s words still resounding in her head. She bit down on her lip, knowing that it was probably very wrong of her to feel so pleased with herself that Robb found her tempting. It was probably even more wrong of her to wish that he had ignored propriety and kissed her. No man had ever kissed her before, not on the lips at any rate. She had been kissed on the hand more times than she could even think of putting a number to. She had even had kisses placed on her cheeks by family members. Her lips though…No man had ever come close. Not until Robb. Without thinking she ran her fingertips over her bottom lip, remembering how feeling him do the same the night before had made them tingle.

She sighed, kicking the furs away from her and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. As much as she wanted to, she knew she could not lay in her bed all morning thinking about Robb and what he may or may not feel for her. Her own feelings were all jumbled and muddled, what she was feeling in her heart was clashing awfully with the warnings from her mother. _“If he thinks you care for him then he has power over you, more power than he will gain from visiting your bed night after night.”_ Myrcella shuddered as she made her way to the dresser, her mother’s words now drowning out Robb’s. Surely she couldn’t be right. She was just preparing Myrcella for the worst, for what she assumed Robb would be and how he would feel about taking a Lannister bride. Myrcella knew better now though, didn’t she? She was actually here spending time with him, getting to know him and letting him know her.

 _He will know all of me come tomorrow night._ She shuddered again, but she wasn’t entirely sure whether it was with fear or not. Yes, she certainly felt some level of apprehension when she thought of her wedding night, but at the same time she could not help but think about how Robb’s skin felt when he held her hand. Or how he had made her lips tingle with just a mere whisper of his touch. Was this what he wanted? For her to feel this way? To lull her into a false sense of security and affection only to crush all of her tentative hopes as soon as he took her as his wife? She shook her head. No. No, Robb would not do that. Robb was not like that. She was letting her mother’s words get to her. Her mother didn’t know the first thing about Robb. Myrcella could not claim to know everything, but she knew enough to know that her mother was wrong. She had to be. Myrcella did not even want to consider the alternative. Not now.

A knock came at the door just as she began to fasten the ties of her dress, and she worked her fingers faster in response. “Just a moment!” she called out, finishing the ties before glancing quickly into the mirror. Her hair was a bit of a tangled mess but there was not much she could do about it now, it would be rude to keep her guest waiting any longer. She hurried to the door and pulled it open, starting slightly on seeing Robb on the other side. “Breakfast,” he smiled, holding out a plate laden with food to her. Her stomach snarled in response and she smiled apologetically at him. “It seems I have come just in time,” he said, skirting around her and crossing to lay the plate down atop her table. “You best eat before it gets cold,” he advised her, “would you object to company?”

“Ordinarily, no,” she said, biting down on her lip gently as she thought of what whispering maids might say if they caught them leaving her chamber together. “We can leave the door open, if it would make you more comfortable?” Robb suggested with a raised brow, and she nodded sheepishly before crossing to take a seat. He moved to her side table and set about pouring them both a glass of wine as Myrcella started on her breakfast. Once he was out of sight she felt she could explain it better to him. “You don’t make me feel uncomfortable,” she assured him, “you never have, not once we agreed upon our fresh start anyway. It’s just others, they talk, and I think enough whispers are spoken about me without ‘whore’ being added to the list.”

“Anyone who names you ‘whore’, or anything else for that matter, will find themselves in stocks,” Robb practically growled, and a glass of wine was set down at the side of her plate in the next moment. “You will not put them all in stocks, you would not have enough,” she told him wryly, expecting him to laugh. He didn’t. He just gazed at her so intently that she forgot all about being hungry. “I will make enough,” he told her seriously, and as ridiculous as his statement was, she could not help but believe him. “You will make yourself unpopular,” she told him just as seriously. “I don’t care,” he returned, and she smiled slightly. “You ought to,” she sighed, turning her attention to the wine he had poured her. “You will only make it worse if you become a tyrant after taking me as your wife,” she said, “it isn’t you they’ll blame. It will be me.”

“Eat your breakfast,” he said softly, “you are worrying too much about this. The people cannot resist a wedding, and they will be able to resist your beauty and your goodness even less. You won me over, Myrcella, I have no doubt that you can win them over as well.” Myrcella merely smiled faintly before obediently continuing on with her breakfast. Truthfully, she did not think it would quite as easy as Robb was making it out to be. Either he was underestimating how difficult life might become for him with her as his queen. Or, more likely, he was trying to soothe her own worries by being wildly unrealistic. She decided to let it go either way, for now at least. Likely the issue would crop up again in the near future, but Myrcella hoped that she would at least be allowed to enjoy her wedding day first.

Never had she thought she would look forward to the day. Be happy and excited about exchanging vows with the man her grandfather had bargained her to all those years ago. She had expected a day of false smiles and false courtesies. Now she knew that her smiles would be genuine, and she had secret hopes that Robb’s would be to. She swallowed down another mouthful of breakfast before contemplating him, seeing an amused smile twitching at one corner of his mouth. “Go on,” he raised a brow expectantly at her. “I can tell that you’re dying to ask me something, come on, out with it,” he implored her, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Are you looking forward to tomorrow?” she asked him after taking a steadying breath. “I am,” he responded, “I didn’t think I ever would, but I am. I promise you. Now eat up, we are supposed to be meeting Grey Wind in the gardens and he is a rather impatient beast.”

* * *

They ambled easily through the gardens, Robb calling out for his wolf every moment or so. He didn’t appear, and Myrcella tried to push away the uneasy feeling the animal was watching them. Watching _her,_ more specifically. She tightened her grip on Robb’s arm slightly as he called out for Grey Wind once more. This time there was a rustling in the wilder undergrowth which lined the southern wall of the gardens. Slowly the direwolf appeared, his yellow eyes the most prominent feature of his great, hulking form. By the Gods. Myrcella had seen him before at a distance, but this was something else entirely. She swallowed hard, but it was a difficult motion as her mouth had gone suddenly dry. Grey Wind came closer, padding along the grass in an almost lazy fashion, coming to a halt a mere foot from Robb and dropping down onto his haunches at his master’s side. Robb moved his free hand to rest on the wolf’s head, and Grey Wind’s eyes turned to Myrcella. It seemed ridiculous to think it, but she had honestly never seen an animal look so smug and content.

“Grey Wind, this is Myrcella,” Robb introduced, though it did not sound ridiculous. Especially when the wolf looked up at Robb before moving his eyes back to Myrcella and blinking slowly at her. “Hello, Grey Wind,” she said tentatively, flickering her eyes to Robb and seeing him incline his head slightly. “Say hello, then,” Robb moved his hand to pat Grey Wind’s shoulder encouragingly, eliciting a whine from the wolf. The direwolf rose again, with surprising grace for one so big, and moved towards Myrcella. He sniffed around the hem of her skirts before circling her, bumping Robb out of the way as he did so. Myrcella was now left grasping air as Robb’s arm was pushed out of her grip. For a second she was panicked, but the wolf stopped his circling and came to a halt in front of her. Again, he settled down on his haunches, raising his head almost as though he wanted to meet her eyes.

Myrcella took a breath and outstretched her hand slowly. Grey Wind whined, and she hoped that it was not in warning. She imagined Robb would warn her if he thought his wolf were about to savagely attack her, and so she kept on. An inch away the wolf seemed to lose patience, moving his head forwards so it butted against her hand. Another whine escaped him and she laughed shakily, stroking him properly now and smiling widely when he nuzzled his head against her hand. “You have a friend for life now,” Robb said in an amused tone, and Myrcella turned her head to him. “I do hope so,” she said, hoping that he would understand the double meaning. His smile seemed to brighten his eyes a little more in response, and so she imagined that he may well have done. She had often thought Robb to be very astute, just like his mother in that regard.

“Now, will you allow us to continue our walk?” Robb directed towards his wolf, stepping closer to Myrcella again and placing a hand on the small of her back. She almost jumped at the contact, but she was glad that she hadn’t. Likely Robb would imagine she didn’t want his touch, when in reality she was glad of the pressure. It was all she could do not to lean back against him, already imagining him wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against his chest. She let her breath out slowly, seeing Grey Wind staring at her intently, almost as though he knew exactly what she had just imagined in her head. “Would you join us, Grey Wind, or do you have more pressing engagements in the wolfswood?” Robb asked, and Myrcella couldn’t help but laugh slightly as Grey Wind cocked his head to one side as though he were considering Robb’s words. He yapped twice after a moment, rising to his feet again and waiting in an expectant manner.

“I think he’s joining us,” Robb said, moving his hand from her back to offer his arm again. Myrcella took it gladly and they set off in step, Grey Wind trotting at her side for a little while before he raced on ahead to sniff at anything and everything that caught his fancy. “Do you think he understands everything you say?” Myrcella asked curiously as they ambled after his inquisitive wolf. “I don’t know if he understands every word,” Robb said, “it is more like he can read my mind than anything else. There is some kind of connection between us, I cannot deny that. It was on the battlefield when I noticed it the most, and where it came in most useful. Whenever someone got the best of me in a fight he would appear, the odds would always turn in my favour then.”

“I cannot imagine him in battle,” Myrcella said honestly, her hand gripping a little tighter on Robb’s forearm as she said it. “He is a different beast,” Robb replied, and she nodded her agreement. Watching Grey Wind was like watching an overgrown pup milling about the place. “Did he help you with the dragon?” Myrcella asked, finally plucking up the courage to mention his most famed victory. They had spoken often about the war, and Robb had relayed many tales to her, but never that one. He never spoke much of the war beyond the Wall either, though for that Myrcella was rather grateful. “He made a nuisance of himself, distracted the great thing more than anything,” Robb told her, and she nodded slowly. “Is it true you were injured?” she asked.

“I do not think a man could take down a dragon without sustaining some kind of injury,” he responded, and she tilted her head to look up at him. “I suppose,” she agreed with him, now unable to stop thinking of the scars that marred him that she was yet to see. _I will see them soon enough. I will know all of him, as he will know all of me._ “It wasn’t quite as horrific as the tales will tell you,” Robb told her, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. “It matters not to me, scars are a sign of bravery and sacrifice. They show that a man is willing to fight to protect what is his,” Myrcella said seriously, and his brows raised slightly in response. “There you go again, sounding wise beyond your years. How did you get so wise, if I might ask?” he said quietly, and she smiled at him. “I read a lot of books,” she told him, and he chuckled in response. “That must be where I am going wrong, I have not the time nor the patience for reading. Nothing is ever placed before me that isn’t related to the kingdoms,” he sighed.

“You don’t need to read stories, you have lived them. The tales are an escape for those who have never known adventure,” she responded, and he shook his head slightly, chuckling again. “You have an answer for everything,” he said almost incredulously, but she could tell by the warmth of his voice that it was meant as a compliment. “You are rather wise yourself, even my grandfather will admit that,” Myrcella told him, “though, I confess, never in the company of my mother.” Robb snorted at that, a small burst of laughter leaving him. She smiled herself, pleased that her words had not been taken badly. They had been said without thought, as her words with him often were now. At first she had been tentative and thought the words through in her head first. Then as she grew more and more comfortable around him the words just came more and more frequently without her thinking first. “I confess, I cannot help but have a grudging respect for your grandfather. It would be impossible not to, what with all the planning and the fighting we did together,” Robb said.

“That is almost exactly the same thing he says about you,” Myrcella giggled slightly, Robb joining in with her laughter for a moment. They lapsed into silence for a while after that, Myrcella watching Grey Wind as he continued to bound ahead of them. She could not be sure, as she did not turn her head to see, but she had a suspicion that Robb was watching her as she was watching his wolf. The thought made her stomach twist in knots, but not the same nervous knots that had tightened within her on the arrival here. These knots were altogether more pleasant. In the end she could take no more, casting her eyes about the place for inspiration. “The snow didn’t settle,” she finally said, seeing a hint of frost clinging to the vegetation, but no sign of any of the flakes that had fallen the night before. “Believe it or not, it is still a little too warm,” Robb replied.

“I imagine it will not be long,” she mused, her eyes catching a bed of wilted flowers. They looked rather sorry for themselves, perhaps winter would be a mercy for them. “No doubt,” Robb agreed, “but we can at least hope that it will stay dry for us tomorrow.” Myrcella hummed her agreement, unconsciously leaning her head closer to him so it brushed against his upper arm. They had almost done a full turn of the garden now, and Myrcella wished that they had walked a little slower. These walks were the most enjoyable part of the day, the time when she and Robb could talk openly and honestly with one another without the threat of anyone overhearing them. It was rare they encountered anyone else out here, and Myrcella was glad of it. “I don’t suppose we could walk around again?” she asked Robb hopefully, inwardly praying that he would say yes. He chuckled lightly and she bit down on her bottom lip, waiting for his answer. “I don’t see why not,” he said in an amused tone.

They walked the rest of the path to the gate, Robb suggesting they take a different path for their next turn. Before they had reached a decision however, the creak of the gate drew both of their attentions. “Forgive me, your Grace, princess,” Ser Rodrik bowed his head to each of them in turn. “You have news for me?” Robb inquired of the master-at-arms. “Word from Torrhen’s Square, your Grace,” the older man told him, a rather grim expression on his face. “I assume it is not word that I will like,” Robb said heavily, and Ser Rodrik inclined his head in agreement. “Master Hellman calls for aid, the food stores are being looted on an almost nightly basis. Even with the extra guard it is no good, two of the guard were badly beaten on one occasion and are still recovering with the Maester,” Ser Rodrik explained to him, and Robb sighed heavily at her side, his hand coming to run through his hair.

“I suppose Master Hellman realises that I am getting married tomorrow,” Robb said irritably, and again Ser Rodrik inclined his head. “He sends his sincerest apologies, your Grace. But at this point he does not think anything but your own intervention will quell this matter. If it goes unchecked then word could filter to other settlements, and then you really will have a problem,” Ser Rodrik told him, and Myrcella glanced at Robb to see him nodding his head in defeat. “I’ll take two hundred,” Robb said heavily, “make sure they are ready to leave the morning after the wedding.” Myrcella couldn’t help but clench her hand tightly around his arm at that, and she knew that her dismay must have shown on her face as Ser Rodrik sent her a sympathetic smile. “I am sorry, your Grace, princess,” he bowed his head, and Myrcella tried to smile for him. “It was not your doing,” Robb said, his smile looking a little forced to Myrcella.

“If it cheers you, your Grace, there was also a letter from Pyke,” Ser Rodrik continued, putting a hand into his cloak and drawing out a letter. Robb took it when he was offered, sliding it beneath his own cloak. “Doubtless more of Theon’s usual vulgarity,” he said, the smile on his face looking more genuine this time. “No doubt, your Grace,” Ser Rodrik chuckled, before he bowed his head to them both once again. “I will take my leave now, your Grace, princess.” With that he turned and made his way back out of the gate, doubtless on his way to begin preparing the two hundred men that Robb would be taking with him to Torrhen’s Square. If this were the southern kingdoms then she knew well enough that a royal envoy would be sent, Tommen himself would stay at the Capitol. This wasn’t the southern kingdoms though, and Robb was not Tommen. He did things his way, and his way involved getting his hands dirty.

“I am so sorry, Myrcella,” his genuine apology was almost enough to have tears springing to her eyes. “I would expect no less, knowing the kind of king you are. Of course, I wish you didn’t have to go, but I respect and understand why you are doing so,” Myrcella told him, meeting his eyes so he knew that she meant it. “I know Winterfell will be in safe hands in my absence,” he smiled down on her and her eyes widened. “Me?” she asked incredulously, his smile widening in response. “Who else? You will be queen. There will be plenty of people here to help you, don’t trouble yourself,” he soothed her, his hands coming to rest on her upper arms and rub gently up and down them. “How long will you be gone?” she asked, unable to keep the trace of fear from her voice. “A week, perhaps. Not long at all, not really,” he promised, and she nodded her head in agreement. “Good,” she smiled, feeling him squeeze her upper arms lightly in response. “Shall we continue our walk?” Robb suggested. “There is no reason for us to let this news spoil our day.”

* * *

Myrcella was sat idly pulling the brush through her hair when the light tap came on her door. She set the brush down and turned on her stool, calling for her late night visitor to come it. It was Lady Stark, and Myrcella was on her feet at once. “Relax,” Lady Stark advised her at once. “That is more easily said than done, my lady,” Myrcella told her honestly, and the older woman smiled in response. “Sit at least,” she advised her, and Myrcella did as she was told, resuming her place on the stool. Lady Stark in turn crossed to perch herself on the edge of the bed facing her, the action making her swallow hard. “I took a guess that you would still be awake,” Lady Stark said, and Myrcella smiled weakly in response. “Very astute of you, my lady,” she said.

“Are you worrying about tomorrow?” her future good-mother asked her, and she sighed slightly. “A little,” she confessed, “but it is thinking of the King riding out the morning after our wedding that is playing the most on my mind. I know that it isn’t far, and that he is only dealing with a small group of thieves but…I don’t like it.” Lady Stark smiled at her sympathetically, slowly reaching one of her hands to take one of Myrcella’s. “I hate it when he rides out. I always have, from the first time he was old enough to go with Ned to one of the holdfasts. But he must, and he will, because that is the man his father taught him to be, and the king he has chosen to be,” Lady Stark explained to her, a sad little smile on her face. “And I will wait for him patiently, and pray for his return. As you have no doubt done yourself for many years,” Myrcella smiled in response.

“It will be nice to have company in the Sept for once,” Lady Stark said, a real sparkle in her eyes that made Myrcella feel warm and content inside. “I will be glad to join you,” Myrcella told her honestly. “Is there anything else that is bothering you? Tomorrow night, perhaps?” Lady Stark asked her quietly, in an almost apologetic manner. “I know well enough what will happen tomorrow night,” Myrcella said, averting her eyes for the first time. “It won’t be perfect, or painless, but it gets better,” Lady Stark told her, and Myrcella could almost feel the embarrassment rolling between them. “My mother told me all about it,” Myrcella almost cringed, her hands coming to fist in the silk of her robe. “I’m sure,” Lady Stark said drily, and Myrcella couldn’t help but smile slightly.

“You know…” Lady Stark seemed to hesitate, and Myrcella somehow forced herself to look up and meet her eyes again. “You know, it does not have to be a chore, nor a burden,” the older woman told her awkwardly, “it can be special and loving, and pleasurable for both husband and wife.” Myrcella swallowed hard at that, her cheeks burning. She could even see that a faint blush had risen up on the cheeks of Lady Stark, and for some inexplicable reason it made her want to laugh. She resisted. Just about. “I think there is more between Robb and I already than there ever was between my mother and my father,” Myrcella said honestly, “and for that reason alone, I know that tomorrow night will not be quite the same ordeal she prepared me for.”

“Good,” Lady Stark looked relieved, and Myrcella inwardly prayed that this could be the end of the awkwardness. “I will leave you to try and get some sleep,” Lady Stark smiled at her, rising up from her perch on the edge of the bed. “Thank you,” Myrcella responded, rising up from her own place. “Sansa and I will come in the morning to help you get ready,” she told her, and Myrcella nodded in response. Lady Stark merely smiled warmly once more before she made her way to the door. She was halfway through it when Myrcella found her voice again. “Lady Stark,” her future good-mother paused and looked back at her; “really, thank you.”


	11. Interlude: The Queen's Scheme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a very brief chapter, showing a little snippet from the Capitol.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it, the wedding is up next, and I'll post that at the weekend.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left kudos, much appreciated!
> 
> :)

* * *

_Cersei_

* * *

 

She swilled the glass of wine in her hand, staring out over the blackness of the water. There were pricks of light here and there, dotted about in the waves. Ships. Merchants. Smugglers. People Cersei did not give a damn about. There were precious few people she did give a damn about, and her father seemed intent on stealing them away from her. Was it not bad enough that she had had to suffer the death of her oldest boy? Her perfect, golden lion. Joffrey had been a perfect king. Yes, he had had a temper. And yes, often he acted without thinking. But a king needed fire, and a passion in his belly. He had not deserved his fate. Never in a million years had he deserved to die under the feet of those ingrates that he had ruled over. _That_ had been bad enough, but then her father had taken away her hopes for revenge.

You see, it was that Stark girl’s fault, what had become of Joffrey. All her fault, for sitting there on that horse at his side with a moping face and sad eyes. What did she have to be sad about? She was set to become queen. Give Joffrey sons. The stupid girl. She was as ungrateful as the unwashed peasants who had dragged him to his death. How Cersei wished that they had dragged Sansa Stark instead. At least then her boy would have had the opportunity to take better queen. Someone who was worthy of him. She brought her wine to her lips with shaking hands and took a great gulp of it. Some dribbled down her chin and she wiped it impatiently away with the sleeve of her dress. Gods, how she had wanted Sansa Stark to pay the price for Joffrey. Her father hadn’t allowed it. He had placed the girl under the protection of the Imp of all people while he had ridden off to _treat_ with Robb Stark.

Robb Stark hadn’t deserved to be treated with, he had deserved his head atop his spike, just like his worthless father. Instead, her own father had offered him her daughter. Never had she felt rage like it than when he had _told_ her that. She had been given no opportunity to refuse. It was done. Just like that. _“Myrcella will be his queen, Cersei. It is the only way that we can hope to maintain anything resembling a civil relationship with the North.”_ Cersei did not _want_ a civil relationship with the North. She wanted the North stamped out. She wanted the Starks destroyed and a family of puppets installed at Winterfell. All her wants fell on deaf ears, and her stupid daughter had never uttered one word of protest. That in itself helped ensure that her father insisted on the match going ahead.

Her younger children had never had the same fire in them as Joffrey. They were meek and quiet. Gentle and quick to cry. Weak. She supped down more of her wine, tapping her fingers against the glass. She loved them despite their inadequacies, of course she did. She was their mother. There was hope for Tommen, he could be moulded into a strong king, she was certain of it. For Myrcella, there was little hope for her unless Cersei could get her back from the North. It would not be easy, but she was determined to do it. She had to do it. She refused to lose her daughter to that bleak wasteland. It was bad enough that Robb Stark would steal her innocence and claim her as his queen. She closed her eyes in despair, remembering her own nights of suffering in Robert’s bed. She had little hope that her daughter’s fate would be any better.

At least Cersei had had Jaime. Myrcella had no one. And worse still, she was weak, where Cersei had always been strong. It had been easy to close her heart to Robert, easy to despise him and bide her time. Myrcella was not that calculating, that had always been her problem, and that was why Cersei knew she would have to extract her from the North herself. She would have to bide her time again, though hopefully not for as long. She was determined not to make her daughter suffer Robb Stark for as long as she had suffered Robert Baratheon. As soon as Myrcella had a son she would put her plan into action. Jaime would have to aid her, he was the only one she could trust not to tell father. They would have to find a way to explain his long absence, but Cersei was sure that they could devise something together. Jaime would be just as desperate as she was to get Myrcella back, she was certain of it.

He would do anything, and she had no doubt that he would relish in the chance to revenge himself upon the boy who had kept him captive for all that time. Yes, Jaime would aid her, and as soon as Myrcella birthed a son Robb Stark’s days as King in the North would be numbered. With his death the North would be weak, their king an infant. A babe at the breast. Myrcella would be regent, as his mother. She would have all the power, and all she would have to do was reunite the North and the Riverlands with the southern kingdoms. Then she could come home. Cersei drained her wine and smiled wryly. They would have to live with the fact that she had a half-Stark son, but what other choice did she have? She _had_ to get her daughter back, and Myrcella would no doubt be aching to come home. Cersei would get her home, she promised the night sky. “I will get her home,” she murmured fiercely, “by whatever means I will get her home.”


	12. X: White Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the wedding chapter everyone! Just to confirm, there will be adult content in this chapter, so if you're uncomfortable with it then you may want to skip the last bit. 
> 
> I'm not sure about bumping this up to an 'explicit' rating. For now I've left is as 'mature', but after reading if you think I should bump it up higher then please let me know, I don't want to offend anyone!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left comments on the last chapter, it's much appreciated, though Cersei won't be implementing her little scheme for a while yet. 
> 
> Special thanks to SkySamuelle for your comments, what you said about R and M's relationship being pure and almost innocent is really appreciated, because that is exactly what I was going for! Also, spot on about Cersei too, she always strikes me as being incredibly delusional, and that's not to mention how inconsiderate she is. 
> 
> Righty-ho everybody, I hope you all enjoy the wedding! 
> 
> :)

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

It had snowed in the night, a proper fall which had coated Winterfell in an inch of the cold, wet flakes. Robb wagered that it would turn to muddy slush by the end of the day, and he had instructed a group of men to clear a path through the courtyard to the Godswood as soon as he had risen that morning. He was walking along that cleared path now, pleased to see that they had done a good job. It was not himself he was concerned with, it was Myrcella. He knew how happy she was with her wedding dress, and he imagined she would be upset if the bottom of it was soaked through and stained with mud by the time she reached the Godswood. Though he thought it likely that she would inevitably damage the bottom of it, he was hopeful that it would not be as bad now that she had a clear walkway.

It would not be long. Soon she would be making her own way to the Godswood. The thought of it had his hands coming to rearrange his doublet nervously. He declined the urge to look back at the Smalljon, who was walking behind him carrying the cloak bearing the white direwolf on a background of silver silk. Only a precious few of his lords had made the journey for the wedding. He had been expecting many to decline, and he was not offended, he only hoped that Myrcella would not be. It was easy to make excuses at such a time. It was too far to be gone from their own keeps what with winter well on its way. The Greatjon had not come, that was Robb’s only regret. His son had though. The Smalljon was one of Robb’s closest friends, and he had believed him implicitly when he had told him that his father was ill.

None of the Mormonts were present, not that Robb was expecting them to come. Bear Island was a long distance in the best of weathers. He did not blame them at all for not making the journey. Lord Bolton was absent, not that Robb had been particularly hungry for his company. The Cerwyns had come, and several of the Flints. A few Manderlys had made the journey, and most unexpectedly of all, Harrion Karstark. His father had not come, but he had sent his one surviving son in his place, with his apologies. Robb did not need his apologies, and he had implored Harrion to make sure his father knew how grateful he was to have a Karstark presence at his wedding. None of his lords had been overly impressed at the thought of a Lannister queen, but Robb knew that it was hardest of all for Lord Karstark to stomach.

They would all have to meet her at the first gathering of the lords’ council after winter though, and Robb was confident that Myrcella would be able to win them over. He had been unable to help liking her, and enjoying her company. She was not a Lannister to him in anything but looks, and that he was more than happy to live with. He did wish he did not have to up and leave her the morning after their wedding though. Once upon a time he imagined he would relish any chance he had to be away from her. Not now though. Now he looked forward to spending time with her and enjoying her company. Their strolls around the gardens had slowly become his favourite part of the day. He smiled wryly, knowing that when the snows fell thicker they would no longer be able to participate in that particular pastime.

He tore his mind from that as he finally entered the Godswood, noting that all those attending were already present, besides Myrcella and Olyvar of course. He strode towards the heart tree to take his place, seeing his family lined up nearby as he came to a halt. His heart panged dully for those he was missing. Jon ought to be here, but he could not leave the Wall now that there was a chance he would be unable to get back. His brother had sent him a letter of tentative congratulations, urging him to at least try and enjoy his life with his new bride. Robb was intent on writing back to reassure him that his feelings were not the same as the last time he had written about her. The memory of that letter made him cringe slightly. He had been so bitter. Unfeeling. Cold. He refused to be like that anymore, he had no cause to be like that anymore. Not now that he knew Myrcella’s true nature.

Oddly he was missing Theon as well. He had not seen his friend since the war beyond the Wall. On his return to Pyke he had docked to discover that Robb had already parleyed with Tywin Lannister, and that ships from his father were no longer needed. He had written to Robb for leave to stay on the Iron Islands, and be with the family he had been raised apart from for most of his life. Robb had agreed, there was no reason not to anymore. Grudgingly he had asked Tywin for his permission on the matter, and the old lion had waved his consent dismissively before talk had swiftly turned back to the best way to rid themselves of Stannis and Renly. Theon was Lord of the Iron Islands now, his father had taken ill during the last winter and never recovered. His mother still lived, but from what Theon had told him she had been sucked even further into the depths of madness. Theon didn’t complain though, nor did he seem bitter, and Robb was pleased he was finding his feet as a lord and a leader, even if it meant him being absent from Winterfell.

Robb scanned his family again, noting for the first time that his mother was not clad in black. It was the first time he had seen her in anything that resembled colour in so many years, and he was touched that she had managed it for his wedding. For Sansa’s he remembered her wearing a cloak of grey. That was the closest she had come before. This time she was wearing a blue dress, albeit a rather dark shade of blue, beneath the same grey cloak. He sent her a small smile and she returned it, inclining her head slightly. He knew she would miss his father today, just as he himself would. What he wouldn’t give to see him walking into the Godswood, leading Myrcella towards him. He swallowed hard. It was not his father escorting Myrcella, it was Olyvar, and Robb had just caught a glimpse of them through the trees lining the Godswood.

Her dress was as white as the untouched snow around the pool of the Godswood. Even from a distance he could see that the bodice was sewn with pearls and silver and golden thread. Pearls were woven into her hair as well, which was half braided back from her face to allow her golden curls to tumble down her back. Around her shoulders was a black cloak made of fine velvet, and Robb imagined that the golden stag of house Baratheon would be woven into the back of it. He swallowed hard as she and Olyvar came to a halt on the opposite side of the pool to him. Everyone in the Godswood seemed to have turned to stare at her, and he vaguely wondered if she looked as enchanting to them as she did to him. He had always known she was beautiful, it seemed only now he was appreciating just how captivating she really was. He took a deep breath, knowing that this was it. He could not allow the silence to continue much longer.

“Who comes? Who comes before the Gods?” Robb asked clearly, his eyes unable to move from Myrcella, even though he knew it would be Olyvar who answered. “Myrcella, of house Baratheon comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble,” Olyvar’s voice didn’t waver, despite the slight murmuring that seemed to accompany the word _trueborn._ Robb was irked, but he pushed it aside as Olyvar continued. “She comes to claim the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

“Me,” Robb said firmly, determined to show those whisperers that it mattered not to him. That he was glad to marry Myrcella, whatever her true status. “Robb, of house Stark,” he continued clearly, “King in the North and of the Trident, and Lord of Winterfell. I claim her. Who gives her?” he asked, finally moving his eyes from his bride and to his good-brother. “Olyvar, of house Frey,” Olyvar replied, meeting Robb’s eyes for a moment before he turned his attention to Myrcella. “Princess Myrcella, will you take this man?”

“I take this man,” Myrcella said, her voice strong and clear as her eyes found Robb’s. He smiled a tiny smile for her, and she relinquished her hold on Olyvar’s arm at the gesture. Slowly she walked from him, stepping around the pool until she stood face to face with Robb. He offered his hand at once and she gave her own without hesitation. Robb put a little pressure on her hand as he took it in his, holding her eyes and sharing a smile with her before they both turned slightly to face the heart tree. They knelt as one, their hands still clasped, and bowed their heads in submission to the Old Gods. Robb knew that Myrcella did not pray to these Gods, but he himself sent a silent prayer to them. A happy and contented life. That’s all he asked for. That’s all he had ever wanted. He squeezed her hand lightly again once he had finished, hoping that she would understand the pressure. She squeezed his back, and he assumed that she had.

He raised his bowed head before rising slowly to his feet, keeping Myrcella’s hand firmly in his own to keep her steady as she rose gracefully back up. With that Robb glanced behind him, nodding slightly to the Smalljon, who approached slowly with the Stark cloak draped over his arm. Robb turned his attention back to his bride, moving his fingers to the clasp around her neck. He could feel her warm breath on the back of his hand as he unfastened her maiden’s cloak from around her and slipped it away from her shoulders. He passed it back to the Smalljon, receiving the Stark cloak in return and sweeping it quickly around Myrcella’s shoulders before she had the chance to get cold. His fingers shook ever so slightly as he fastened the clasp, knowing that this final gesture was the one that bound them fully as husband and wife.

When he moved his hands away again he met her eyes before talking both her hands in both of his, tugging her closer slightly. She moved willingly, her head already tilted up so she could meet his eyes. In that moment he wished that he had kissed her that night when they had stood out in the snow, when there had not been any other eyes on them. Now they were surrounded by people, and he could practically see Myrcella’s nerves shining in her eyes. He couldn’t not kiss her. For one thing he wanted to, and for another, it would look bad to those in attendance. They would make assumptions. Wrong assumptions, that he wished to avoid at all costs. He pushed that from his mind and leaned into Myrcella, tilting his head and closing his eyes the moment before their lips met. Hers were soft and warm as he had expected them to be, and he let his own linger for a long moment before he pulled back. She smiled widely when he did so, and he returned the gesture gladly, unable to believe that this moment he had dreaded for so many years had brought him such an inexplicable joy.

* * *

“It’s gorgeous, really, but I could not have another bite,” Myrcella protested, raising her hands up to stop Robb from tempting her with another forkful of raspberry and cream tart. “Are you certain I cannot persuade you?” he asked her teasingly, and she shook her head determinedly. “No you cannot, not in this matter at any rate,” she answered him, and he chuckled, laying the fork back down against his plate before contemplating his new wife. She had discarded her cloak due to the heat in the dining hall, and the unblemished skin of her arms was teasing him through the delicate lace of her sleeves. He was so busy admiring her that he didn’t notice that she was no longer occupied with sipping from her wine glass. She cleared her throat slightly, and he snapped his eyes up to meet her amused gaze. “Admiring the lace?” she arched that one brow, and he smiled sheepishly. “Something like that,” he muttered, holding her eyes for a moment before he turned to pick up his own glass.

“It’s been dark for rather a while,” Myrcella mused quietly as he sipped down the sweet wine. “Indeed,” he agreed with her after he swallowed his mouthful. “I wonder when…” she hesitated, “when the call will come for us to leave,” she finished, and Robb moved his hand to lay across hers. “The bedding will not be called for,” he soothed her, rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. “What do you mean?” she turned to frown at him, and he could have sworn a glimmer of disappointment shone in them. Had she thought he had meant there would be no bedding, and been disappointed? The thought made his stomach twist in knots, and had him thinking that they really ought to retire soon. “I mean I will not have you humiliated, the men pawing at you. I won’t allow it, you’re my queen,” he explained, “we will retire when we are _both_ ready.”

“From that I can only assume that you are waiting on me,” she smiled rather wickedly at him, and he narrowed his eyes at her. “And will you keep me waiting?” he asked her softly, leaning in slightly closer to her. “No,” the simple word sounded like magic, and Robb’s eyes could see the quickening of her breathing in the way her bodice rose and fell more rapidly. “Then will you allow me to escort you to my chambers?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes,” she breathed back, that one word making his breeches feel uncomfortably tight. Gods, he had been far too long without a woman. Looking at Myrcella, however, had him certain that his patience would be well rewarded. Slowly he pushed back his chair and rose up to his feet, offering her his hand. She took it, rising up to her own feet. At their action the dining hall seemed to pause, and Robb swallowed hard, knowing he would have to address them.

“The queen and I are retiring for the night,” Robb declared, feeling Myrcella add pressure to his hand at his words. “Please, in our absence continue to feast, drink and dance until whatever hour you choose!” A cheer went up at his words, and there was the distinct clanking of many tankards and glasses. Robb pulled Myrcella away from the high table and off the dais, skirting the edge of the dining hall rather that leading her through the middle of the throng of people. Her hand was holding on tightly to his, but he did not complain of the pressure, knowing that she was likely nervous. He himself was nervous, having never taken a maid into his bed before. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, but he knew well enough that he would not be able to prevent all of her discomfort. He could make it as bearable as possible, that was about as much as he could promise. After the first time he could promise her pleasure, his time with Ada had taught him the best ways to satisfy a woman.

He almost shuddered with desire, thinking of manipulating Myrcella’s glorious body in any number of ways. How he longed to have her shaking beneath him, clenching tightly around him and crying out her relief to the Gods. Damn it all, his breeches really were unbearably tight now, and they were not even half way up the stairs. He quickened the pace slightly, hoping that Myrcella would not be offended by his eagerness. With every step he reminded himself that he could not just remove her gown and ravish her as soon as they closed the door to his chambers. He had to be slow with her. Gentle. He had to be patient and reassure her that he was happy to go at her pace. This time, at least. Gods. He almost groaned as he remembered he would have to leave her in the morning. It would be a good week at least before he could really show his wife what sharing his bed could be like.

Robb could have wept in relief when they came upon his chamber door, and he pushed it open, pulling Myrcella in after him before he closed it firmly behind them and slid the lock into place. He turned to look at her then, seeing her eyes lingering on the locked door. “I would leave it open, but we have rather a lot in the keep tonight, and a large portion of them will likely end up drunk and disorientated,” he smiled reassuringly at her and she giggled slightly. His eyes were drawn to her hands, seeing how her fingers flexed towards her palms. He frowned, crossing to her and gently taking hold of her hands. “I hate it when you do that,” he murmured, looking up to meet her eyes and seeing that a frown adorned her own face. “I hate to think that anything here makes you feel like he did. That I make you feel like _he_ did.”

“You don’t!” Myrcella protested at once, her hands flying to his chest as her head shook almost violently. “You couldn’t, you never did…not once have I been frightened of you. Apprehensive, yes. Nervous, yes. But not frightened. You don’t frighten me, Robb. You could never make me feel the way he did, not ever, it is not your nature, and I thank the Gods for it every day!” He let one of his own hands come up and caress one of hers in response, hoping to calm the wild look in her eyes. “I wasn’t accusing you,” he said softly, “but after what you told me, I can’t help but notice it. I know you’re nervous about tonight, but I swear the last thing in this world I want to do is hurt you.”

“I know,” she whispered, her free hand coming to toy with the leather lacings of his doublet. He didn’t move. He kept silent, just watching the progress of her finger as she wound the lacing round and around it. When she tugged on it slightly, as though for permission, he met her eyes and inclined his head slightly. At his action she pulled more firmly, undoing the top of his doublet. He heard her take a steadying breath, and he stepped closer on hearing it, moving his hand from hers so he could place both of his on her waist. “As slow as you like,” he promised, not moving his eyes from hers. “Say ‘stop’, and I will, without question.” She nodded at his words, both hands at his chest working to unthread his doublet. Robb kept his hands resting gently on her waist as she slowly loosened it until she came to the bottom and left his doublet hanging open.

Her hands clenched around the open lapels of his doublet and he leaned in closer to her and brushed his lips against her cheek. She tilted her head at his action, turning it closer towards him. Her action was enough to encourage him to capture her lips with his. This time it was far from chaste, as he sucked her bottom lip between his own to encourage her to grant him access to her mouth. She did so, with a surprised gasp, and Robb wasted little time, slipping his tongue into her mouth and kissing her deeply. Her own lips were tentative, but they were ever so soft and wonderful against his as she slowly adjusted to the rhythm he had set. He caressed her tongue with his own and she twisted hers deftly with his, causing him to pull on her waist until her body was pressed flush against him.

She didn’t protest as his closeness, if anything she reciprocated his advances, her hands moving from his lapels so she could wrap her arms tightly around his neck. Her movement encouraged him to let his hands wander up her back, feeling the lacings of her dress as he did so. When he found the top of them he blindly worked his fingers to untie them, feeling them come away beneath his touch. Myrcella twisted the fingers on one of her hands around the hair at the nape of his neck as he began to slowly unthread the lacings of her dress the way she had loosened his doublet. She pulled away from his kiss when he reached halfway down her back, her breathing ragged and her eyes wide. “Should I stop?” he asked her, and she shook her head. “I just needed to breathe,” she panted out, and he chuckled at her. “You’ll get used to it,” he said, still deftly unthreading her laces. “I do hope so,” she smiled that wicked little smile that he had seen during the feast, and he couldn’t help but return it.

“I can’t promise you a perfect night, Myrcella,” he said seriously when he pulled the last of her lacings free. “This is already more than I ever imagined,” she said just as seriously, and he smiled slightly. “When I return from Torrhen’s Square, I swear to you, I will make up for it,” he promised her, and she blinked slowly at him. “I don’t know what that means,” she said, her eyes wide on his. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said, shaking his head and moving his hands to run down the length of her arms. When he reached her shoulders she allowed her arms to unwind from around his neck, moving them back do her sides. “Can I?” he asked her permission, digging his fingers underneath the silk covering her shoulders. She nodded her consent, and he dipped his eyes to look down at her hands as he began to pull down her dress. Her fingers twitched slightly, but they did not curl back against her palms as he peeled the silk down her arms and torso.

She was wearing a flimsy shift beneath, and he was gratified to see that the buds of her breasts were peaked. He knew it could not be due to the cold, as his chamber was almost as warm as the dining hall had been, and there was no sign of gooseflesh on her skin. He delighted in revealing her skin, the soft, creamy expanse of it was entirely flawless. Nothing marred it. Not one scar nor blemish. Not so far anyway. Robb made it his silent mission to explore every inch of her skin. Perhaps not tonight, but one night, one night in the not too distant future. He would scour every inch. He promised himself that. He wanted to promise her, too, but he wasn’t sure whether she would want to hear it at this point, as her beautiful wedding gown dropped and pooled at her feet. Robb moved his hands back to her shoulders, massaging her gently as he met her eyes. “You can take this off yourself, when you’re ready,” he nodded towards her shift.

“Thank you,” she smiled at him, a proper smile that lit up her eyes. “That doesn’t mean it has to be tonight,” he elaborated, and she nodded, though he noticed that her eyes had widened slightly in surprise. “Perhaps if you lose a little of your own clothing,” her tone was teasing, but he could hear the tiny shake in her voice. “As you wish, my queen,” he decided against drawing attention to it, matching her intended teasing tone. He shrugged his doublet carefully from his shoulders before loosening the ties on his tunic. Suddenly he felt incredibly self-conscious with her eyes fixed so intently on him. His scarred body had never bothered any of the other women he had taken to his bed, but none of them had been Myrcella. Most of them had scars or blemishes of their own. Not Myrcella. Not his milk-skinned wife. He bit down on his lower lip before he pulled the tunic up and over his head, tossing it aside before looking to her for a reaction.

Her eyes had widened slightly and his heart hammered, seeing how the perfect green of them was pulled towards his left shoulder. That was the worst of his scars, where the three talons had scraped through the weakness in his armour and raked through his skin. They hadn’t been deep, but they had been bloody and he had always known they would be with him forever. At least they were no longer angry, and pink, and raw. They were fully healed now, a flawless white against his skin. He swallowed, keeping his eyes on Myrcella as she moved her eyes over the rest of his chest and arms. She took a step closer to him, her fingers coming to whisper along his forearm and up to his bicep. Her forefinger traced a tiny scar just above the crease in his elbow, her eyes raising to his again. “How did you do this one?” she asked, and he wanted to kiss her and never stop. The relief in him was so overwhelming that he was almost crushed by the weight of it.

“As a child, sparring with wooden swords,” he told her, “we were only in tunics, and Jon caught me on the arm. There was a nasty splinter in the wood and it embedded itself in my skin. The Maester pulled it out with tweezers and I screamed the whole time, more to make Jon feel guilty than anything else.” He grinned at the end, and she smiled back at him, her eyes blazing with an intensity that he had never seen before as she looked at him. Slowly she moved her hands up to rest on her own shoulders, and Robb swallowed hard as she hooked her fingers under the thin straps of her shift. He kept his eyes on hers as she slipped them slowly along her shoulders, unable to look away from her piercing gaze. “Take me to bed,” she whispered, the wisp of silk that was her shift falling to the floor at her feet.

Robb didn’t need telling twice, placing his hands on her now bare waist and steering her slowly towards the bed. He turned her gently so that she was stood before him as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed. She bit down on her lip as he allowed his eyes to wander the splendour of her. Still he could see no flaw. No blemish. Nothing to suggest she was anything other than sheer perfection. Her breasts were firm and perfectly rounded, and he couldn’t help but imagine how they would fit perfectly in his hands. Her waist was narrow and her stomach flat. His eyes wandered the curve of her hips, biting down on his own lip as he sought out what was between her creamy thighs. Gods. He wanted her. He looked up to her face again, seeing her eyes wide once more. “You’re perfection,” he breathed, and he could see the relief relaxing all of her features.

In the next moment he bent down to hurriedly unlace and pull off his boots, before he straightened up again, pulling back the furs on the bed as he slowly stood up. “After you,” he gestured for Myrcella to climb in, and she did so, clearly unsure of how she should arrange the furs around her. “Whatever makes you comfortable,” he reminded her, and she drew them up around her waist at his words. Robb averted his eyes momentarily as he moved to unlace his breeches, finally freeing his painfully hard length from its confines. He breathed a sigh of relief before he turned to climb in next to Myrcella, avoiding her gaze for the moment, only looking at her again when he too had drawn the furs up around his waist. “I don’t know what to do next,” she told him quietly, her hand reaching out to settle on his chest. “Will you guide me?” she asked shyly.

“Of course,” he replied, shifting himself carefully so that he could move above her. A flash of uncertainty crossed her features for a moment, but then he noticed her slowly moving her legs apart for him. “Follow your instincts,” he breathed, settling himself between her legs before pressing a kiss to her neck. “If I do something you don’t like, tell me to stop,” he whispered, lavishing more kisses along her neck and collarbone. “And if you do like it, tell me to do it again,” he continued in an amused tone, feeling her hands come to lay flat against the top of his back. “I like that,” she said quietly, “what you’re doing now.” He smiled against her skin, imagining the light blush that would have flared up on her cheeks. “Then I will continue,” he murmured against her softness, nuzzling along her collarbone before he latched onto her neck.

She gasped, her back arching up slightly against his body, her reaction encouraging him to let his hand wander slowly up towards her breast. Another gasp left her when he enclosed his hand around the perfect mound. He had been right, it did fit perfectly in his hand, and a tiny little hum left her mouth as he began to tenderly massage her. As he continued kissing her and caressing her she began to slowly raise her hips up and grind against him as slowly as he was touching her breast. He stifled his own groan of pleasure in the skin of her neck, as a more pronounced hum of pleasure escaped her lips. The rolling of her hips was almost driving him wild now, and he shifted himself slightly so that his length could sit between her legs. “Don’t stop,” he gasped against her neck as her movements faltered. She obeyed him, continuing to grind herself against him in an agonisingly slow way.

Robb could feel her arousal against his hardness, and he knew that he could not ignore his own desires any longer. “Myrcella,” he panted against her, tensing all his muscles in a bid to keep himself from peaking right there and then. “Have me,” she gasped in response, “I want you to have me, completely…” Gods, her words alone were the most arousing thing he could imagine. Her consent had him sneaking his other hand beneath the furs to squeeze around her thigh and encourage her leg to come and wrap around his waist. She took his hint, lifting her other leg to do the same. Robb was positioned right at her entrance now and he lifted his head up to meet her eyes. They were slightly unfocused, her forehead clammy with sweat and her hair mussed across the pillows. By the Gods she looked stunning. So undone and beautiful. Perfect in her imperfection.

He held her eyes as he pushed down, her nails pinching little crescents into his back as he felt himself push through the barrier he was met with. A whimper escaped her, her teeth coming to clamp down on her lower lip once more. “I’m sorry,” he hissed, forcing himself to still within her, even though the urge to rock himself over and over within her tight warmth was almost overwhelming. “Don’t stop,” she shook her head, her nails ceasing to dig into his back. He obeyed. Against his better judgement he obeyed her, rocking his hips back and forth. She grimaced and he faltered, but again she shook her head. There were tears in her eyes but still she refused to let him stop, and fool he was he could do nothing but continue thrusting into her. He knew she was hurting, but she felt so good around him and she was telling him to go on.

In the end he had to bury his head in the crook of her neck so he didn’t have to see the discomfort etched on her face. It was selfish, he knew, but he couldn’t stand knowing that he was causing her pain. He kissed her neck, knowing from her own admission that she liked him to do so. Her fingertips whispered down his back in response, and he arched further into her involuntarily. His movement caused him to rock deeper inside her, and a cry that seemed half pain and half surprise escaped her. He closed his eyes tight shut as he thrust again, forcing himself to keep the pace slow as he felt his release building in him. He would not make Myrcella come this time, but he was determined he would show her every pleasure he knew how to illicit when he returned from Torrhen’s Square. He promised himself that as he exploded within her, panting hard and crushing his exhausted body down against her own as he twitched to his end inside her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, when he had recovered enough breath to speak again. “Don’t be,” her hands came to settle in his hair, gently twirling his curls around her fingertips. “Would you let me stay here?” she asked him quietly. “You don’t even have to ask, of course I want you to stay here,” he lifted his head up to meet her eyes. “I want you to stay here even when I am not here, I want these chambers to be _ours_ , Myrcella,” he told her insistently, and she smiled weakly at him. “Hold me,” she whispered, and he shifted himself carefully to separate himself from her once more. He moved to her side and helped her settle herself across his chest, nestling her head under his chin and stroking one of his hands soothingly through her hair. “Will you promise to wake me before you leave tomorrow?” she asked him sleepily, her nails clenching into his chest slightly as she spoke. “If that’s what you want,” he said, and she nodded against him. “Then I will gladly promise you.”


	13. XI: A Cold Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos and the comments on the last chapter, much appreciated as always! 
> 
> To answer the lovely guest who left a comment; Robb wasn't irked that his bannermen know that Myrcella is a bastard, he was irked because people were muttering about it during their wedding. The treaty doesn't mean that both sides have to like one another, but I think he would have liked a little more respect shown to the woman who was about to become his wife and queen. So, he was irked at their rudeness, not at their knowledge. Hope that explains it, I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and yes, Robb and Arya will have a proper talk when he comes back from his excursion. 
> 
> Righty-ho, it's the morning after, let's get on with it!
> 
> :)

 

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

 

It was strange, waking up unclothed with her skin pressed so tightly against someone else’s. Her legs were tangled with Robb’s as she blinked herself fully awake, and she stayed still in his loose embrace for a long moment, trying to memorise everything about this moment. How she felt. How he felt against her. The hair of his legs was coarse and rough against the smoothness of her own, but the contrast felt good. It felt so very good. She lifted her eyes up to study his still sleeping face. He was a handsome man. That had never been in doubt. His features could almost be described as beautiful if it weren’t for the sharp angles of his jaw. She bit down on her lip, wondering if it would wake him if she ran her hand across his cheek. His beard was softer than she had imagined it to be, that had been surprising to learn when he had kissed her for the first time. She had imagined it would be rough, that it would scratch and irritate her skin.

Myrcella was glad that it didn’t, because she rather enjoyed kissing Robb. His lips on hers made her stomach knot deliciously, and made her want to be as close to him as physically possible. She had been the night before. They had been joined as one. For a little while they had almost been one person. Separate entities, but joined entirely. It had hurt at first, feeling him inside her. It had almost felt like an intrusion. She supposed it was in a way, but it was one that her body slowly grew used to. There was still a dull ache between her thighs, but somehow she knew that it was nothing a hot bath would not soothe. Besides, she had a week or more before Robb could be with her so intimately again, and she imagined that would be more than enough time for the pain to fade. It would not hurt again, that is what she had always been told. That it only hurt the first time. She bit down on her lip as she continued watching Robb sleep, wondering exactly what he had meant when he told her he would make it up to her on his return.

She could not deny that his kisses had left her breathless, and that his touch had made her want to shudder in delight. When she had moved herself against him and felt warmth spreading between her thighs she had felt her stomach clenching hard in anticipation of something that had never quite come. Perhaps that is what he meant. The thought of what that might feel like almost made her want to rouse him from sleep and persuade him to bed her again before he left. Somehow she imagined that he wouldn’t. He had been determined not to hurt her any more than necessary, and Myrcella could not deny that being with him again would probably make the pain between her legs even worse. She huffed, wondering if she could shift herself from his arms and stretch her body out without waking him.

Slowly she shifted slightly, and was about to roll away from him when his arms tightened around her waist, a shuddering sigh leaving him. “And where do you think you’re going?” he asked her groggily, and she glanced at his face to see that he had opened one eye. The beautiful blue of it was watching her suspiciously. “I wasn’t going anywhere,” she told him quietly, “I just wanted to stretch myself a little that’s all. I didn’t mean to wake you.” He huffed and groaned in response, releasing her from his embrace so she could roll over onto her back. She arched her back and stretched her limbs before turning her head to see him rubbing at his eyes. “It’s a good thing you woke me, I will have to leave soon,” he said tiredly, stretching his arms above his head before he rolled over onto his side and looked down on her. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his hand coming to stroke lightly down her cheek. Even that simple touch made her tingle in any number of places, but she imagined that may have more to do with the fact that they were both naked.

“I’m well enough, slightly sore but nothing to be concerned with,” she told him honestly, “I think I will call for a bath once you have gone.” He frowned slightly at her, moving his hand to brush a stray lock of her hair away from her face. “That is very cruel,” he said, “leaving me with the image of you bathing alone while I am riding through the cold North.” She smiled widely at that, lifting her own hand to stroke down his cheek as she had been tempted to do while he was still sleeping. “I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back,” she reminded him, and he hummed in agreement, turning his head so he could press a kiss to her palm. “Right here in this bed?” he asked, before kissing at her again. “Or in the bath?”

“Whatever is agreeable to you, your Grace,” she said teasingly, unable to stop a giggle escaping her as he smothered her palm with kisses. “I think either would be perfectly agreeable,” he answered her, and she rubbed her thumb firmly up and down against his cheek. “It will be a long week,” she said quietly, and he smiled regretfully. “I know,” he agreed heavily, “but unfortunately it must be done. I cannot just allow what is happening at Torrhen’s Square to continue.” Myrcella hummed her agreement. “I know,” she sighed, “and likely I am just being foolish. A week is not so long, I am sure I will just about survive without your company.”

“I am sure you will find plenty to occupy yourself with,” he said, “you can start by moving your things into my chambers. And you can have some of the men move the vanity and the dresser if you need them.” Myrcella could not hide her delighted smile at that. She had been thrilled with Robb’s words from the night before, but unsure if he would feel the same about sharing his space with her come morning. Most lords and ladies she had ever come across had separate bedchambers, even the ones who were fond of one another. Men took mistresses; that was well known. A man could love his wife, but would never truly be satisfied by her and her alone. Myrcella had expected Robb to be the same, but if he intended on bedding mistresses then why would he insist she share his chambers? “Are you sure you want to share this space with me?” she asked him.

“Why would I not want you here, you’re my wife,” he frowned at her, and she smiled slightly. “It’s just not the done thing where I am from, that’s all,” she soothed him, but the frown was still creasing his brow. “Myrcella, you know, even if things between us were not this contented, I would never be unfaithful to you. My father taught me the value of honour, and that included honouring the woman I took as my wife. He broke his vows, and though I know he loved Jon as he loved the rest of us, I also know he never forgave himself for betraying my mother. I do not intend to repeat his mistakes, especially now I have come to care so much about you,” he told her quietly but firmly, and she swallowed hard to try and quell the tears that had begun to sting her eyes. “I care about you very much too,” she confessed, her voice barely more than a whisper. She could almost hear her mother’s voice in her head, but she ignored it. Her mother was _wrong._ There could be nothing better than affection growing between her and Robb. It was how a marriage ought to be. Not poisonous and bitter like her mother and father’s had been.

“By the Gods, I am going to give those looters hell for dragging me away from you,” he practically growled, and Myrcella laughed slightly. “Why do you suppose they are stealing?” she asked him curiously, hearing him sigh heavily in response. “There are only two reasons for it in my mind,” he told her, and she arched one brow, waiting for his answer. “Through desperation, or greed.” She nodded slightly at that, and Robb shifted himself up onto his elbow so he was propped above her. “I hope you will not give them hell if they are desperate,” she smiled up at him as he stroked his hand down her cheek. “I would not,” he confirmed, “but something is telling me that this isn’t being done out of desperation. Supplies fetch a fine price later in the winter when stores run low and bellies run empty. That is when the looters gain, they will take a families earnings for an entire year if they can.”

“That’s awful,” Myrcella said honestly, and Robb leaned in closer to her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Do not think on it, I will make sure it is fixed, and the looters weeded out,” Robb said reassuringly as he pulled away from her again. “What will you do with them?” she asked him curiously. “They will be placed on basic rations, and publically shamed,” he replied. Myrcella nodded at that, thinking it was a fair enough way to treat those who sought to exploit their fellow townsfolk when desperation began to set in. “I really ought to prise myself away from you,” Robb said regretfully before leaning into her again and pressing his lips to hers. She kissed him back gladly, feeling more confident now in the way she moved her lips with his than she had done the night before. He deepened the kiss in the next moment, kissing her so forcefully that she could barely breathe, before he pulled back, his breathing slightly ragged.

Without another word he rolled away from her, slipping out of the bed and walking towards his dresser. Myrcella’s eyes followed his progress, unable to stop herself from admiring the muscles of his back as he stood facing away from her. Sinfully she allowed her eyes to wander lower, over the curve of his bottom and down the powerful muscles of his thighs and calves. When he extracted his clothes from the dresser and turned back towards her she fixed her eyes determinedly on his face until he had pulled on his breeches. As his attention was caught up with lacing them she allowed her eyes to wander his bare chest. She had admired it the night before, the strong muscles and the countless scars that marred him. In truth she thought they made him even more attractive. Made him even more of a man, and she silently promised herself that she would learn the story behind each and every one of them.

She could guess the one behind the three gashes that ran across his left shoulder and a little way down his chest. Only the dragon could have inflicted such a wound. She already knew the one behind the one on his right bicep, as he had told her the night before at her bidding. Vaguely she wondered if he would tell her about them all, or if some of them were too secret or too painful. She knew well enough how that felt, and so she made another promise to never push him on any of them. She had the faith that he would reveal everything to her eventually. Just as she herself had faith that one day she would be able to be completely honest with him and keep nothing hidden inside. Neither of them were ready yet, she knew that without even asking him, and she knew that he knew the same from words he had spoken in the past. _“I can tell you don’t want to tell me everything, and I won’t push you on it, but don’t promise me. Don’t lie.”_

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Robb’s amused voice interrupted her thoughts, and she instantly brought a smile to her face for him. “Nothing in particular,” she told him, noticing now that he was fully dressed, only his travelling cloak and furs left for him to put on. “Are you leaving now?” she asked him, and he nodded slightly, approaching the bed. Myrcella sat herself up, drawing the furs closer around her as there was a slight chill in the air. “I’ll have them come and set a fire, and bring you hot water for a bath,” Robb told her, perching himself on the edge of the bed. She thanked him, scooting further towards him as best she could. He leaned into her, his hands cupping around her face to encourage her lips to his. Myrcella didn’t really need his encouragement, she imagined she would always be glad to kiss him. “I will be back before you know it, stay warm,” he smiled, and she nodded her head.

“And you,” she returned, “stay safe.” It was his turn to nod, before he pecked at her lips once more before moving away from her and going for the door. He turned back once more as he opened it, looking as though he wanted to say something else. His eyes were fixed on her for a long moment, and the intensity of his gaze made her almost shift uncomfortably. In the end he said nothing else, merely inclining his head to her and smiling once more before he slipped from the room and closed the door behind him. Myrcella sighed heavily and dropped back down against the pillows, her hands coming up to her head and the strangest desire to laugh taking over her. Here she was, lying in Robb Stark’s bed the morning after their wedding, missing him already. Her mother would have a fit. She clasped a hand over her mouth to hide her smile, what in the name of the Gods had gotten into her?

* * *

“My queen!” Lady Stark’s amused tone hailed her as she walked down the hallway, and Myrcella turned and smiled at her. “I think it will take me a little while to get used to my new title,” she told her good-mother honestly. “I don’t doubt it, I remember turning from a Tully to a Stark. It took a good deal of getting used to, but I would not change it for anything now,” Lady Stark smiled slightly wistfully, and Myrcella would not have to be a clairvoyant to know she was thinking of her late husband. Myrcella was wary of saying anything else, not wanting to pull her from whatever fond memory she had found herself immersed in. Her black clothing was back in place today, and Myrcella wondered if she would ever wear real colours again. She had looked lovely in the blue, but it too had been dark and almost mournful.

“Do you have much planned for your day?” Lady Stark seemed to snap herself out of her daze, an expectant smile on her face. “I was returning this to the library,” she held up the book in her hand, “and I thought I might find Bran there. Then I suppose I really ought to write to my mother about the wedding, though I imagine I will be wasting my time.” Myrcella knew she had likely said too much, and with too much bitterness, but Lady Stark merely smiled sympathetically at her. “It can be hard for a mother to see her children grow up, to know they have passed under someone else’s protection,” Lady Stark told her, and Myrcella just about resisted rolling her eyes. “I don’t doubt that is how many mothers feel,” Myrcella conceded, “but that is not my mother. Forgive me,” she shook her head, “you do not need to hear any of this.”

“I will hear anything you want to tell me, we are kin now, Myrcella,” Lady Stark said kindly but insistently. “I appreciate that very much,” she smiled, “but today is not the day, I woke up in a rather joyous mood and I do not want to sour it.” Lady Stark smiled at that, reaching her hand out to pat Myrcella reassuringly on the shoulder. “You only need find me, should you ever need to,” she promised, squeezing Myrcella’s shoulder lightly before letting go. “Thank you, my lady, but I rather think there are others who need your ear more than I,” Myrcella said pointedly, catching sight of Arya over her good-mother’s shoulder. Lady Stark turned her own head, and a distinct sigh came from her. Arya looked murderous as ever she did whenever she caught sight of Myrcella. They had not spoken since the incident in the crypts, but Myrcella could still feel the waves of resentment crashing towards her each time they were in one another’s presence.

“She will get there eventually,” Lady Stark assured her in an undertone. “But until then I ought to avoid conflict,” Myrcella said wryly, and Lady Stark smiled sympathetically. “I ought to go and speak with her, again,” her good-mother said heavily, and Myrcella nodded. “Do not push her on my account. I came here expecting everyone to feel for me the way she does, believe me, reality has been a welcome surprise,” Myrcella said, and Lady Stark smiled slightly, shaking her head. “You’re a sweet girl, Myrcella,” she said, “I will not keep you any longer. Enjoy your time with Bran, and good luck with writing to your mother. You know where I am.”

“I do,” Myrcella agreed as her good-mother turned away from her and made her way back towards the entrance hall where Arya was still glowering. Against her better judgement she lingered where she was for a moment, watching Lady Stark approach her younger daughter and place an arm about her shoulders. Arya promptly shook it away, and Myrcella could distinctly hear raised voices, though she could not hear what they were saying. Likely that was for the best. She sighed heavily and decided she had lingered too long already, turning away from Lady Stark and her daughter and continuing on her journey to the library. The door was ajar as usual when she arrived, and she slipped around it, making her way at once down the row of books that led her right to Bran’s usual desk.

He was there as she had expected, and he had clearly heard her coming as he turned his head and smiled at her. “Good afternoon, my queen,” he grinned, and Myrcella couldn’t help but return the gesture. “Enough of that,” she mockingly scolded him, coming to take the seat next to him. “What brings you here?” Bran asked her, and she lay the book she had brought on top of his desk in response. “All finished,” she told him, and he smiled again. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked her, and she nodded her head in response. “Very much so, the description was so vivid, the only one I could not bring myself to read about was the white walkers,” she reported to him. “You are afraid of them?” he enquired, raising his brows. “I do not think anyone is overly fond of them,” she rolled her eyes, and he chuckled.

“There is nothing to fear from the dead, that’s what my father always used to say,” Bran told her, and she half smirked at him. “Bran, I have no doubt whatsoever that your father was a very wise man. But on this occasion I think he may have been mistaken, I think there is much to fear from an army of walking dead,” she said, and he laughed again. “Robb took issue with that one too,” Bran said, and she smiled slightly at the mention of her husband. “I don’t doubt it, not after what he had to face,” she said, vaguely wondering if any of his scars had been inflicted by the walkers. “Indeed,” he agreed, his eyes searching as he pondered her for a long moment. “What?” she asked him suspiciously, and he shook his head. “Nothing,” he said quickly, “you just seem a lot more relaxed recently, that’s all.”

“I suppose I am,” Myrcella conceded, “things got better, just as you said they would.” Bran grinned at that, a trace of smugness in his features that had Myrcella rolling her eyes again. “I’m glad,” he said seriously, and she smiled at him. “Thank you,” she returned, and he nodded his head, reaching out for the book she had brought back and turning it in his hands a few times. “I could find something else for you if you like, nothing with white walkers, I promise,” he grinned at her and she laughed lightly. “I’d like that, thank you Bran, I need something to occupy me while Robb is away,” she smiled, moving her eyes to see what books he had piled up in front of him. “I see medicine is your next area of study,” she commented with a raised brow. “I’m just interested, that’s all. Mostly just the remedies, it’s amazing what can come of a few handfuls of leaves,” Bran said.

“I’m sure it’s fascinating, though not something I have ever given much thought to,” Myrcella told him honestly, and he smiled faintly. “Fables of House Stark?” Bran offered her a book from the shelf behind him, and she reached out for it at once. “This looks like a hefty read,” she observed, weighing the book in her hands. “There are a lot of legendary Starks,” Bran said teasingly, and she smirked at him. “Allegedly, at least,” she said pointedly, and he laughed at her. “You know many myths and legends are more than likely to have their basis in fact,” Bran informed her as she inspected the first few pages of the book. “Is that right?” she said vaguely, her eye already caught by the beautiful illustrations. “Of course,” he answered, “a thousand years from now the tale of Robb and the dragon will be legendary, and yet we know well enough that it happened.”

“But a thousand years from now the story will be exaggerated beyond recognition,” Myrcella countered, closing the book with a snap. “The dragon will have two heads, or become twice the size, and Robb will have wrung its neck with his bare hands,” Myrcella raised a brow and Bran laughed at her. “Then the answer is simple,” he said, “when you are reading the tales from the book you only need think of the simplest way it could have happened. That way you will likely be much closer to the real truth of it.”

“If someone reads Robb’s tale that way in a thousand years then they will likely say he decapitated an overgrown lizard with a great-sword,” she said with a raised brow, and Bran dissolved into laughter once more. “I do not believe I have an answer for that one,” he chuckled at her, shaking his head slightly. “Well, if I have stumped the great Bran Stark, who is known to be the font of all knowledge, then I know I have achieved something with my day,” she smiled at him. “And now, I will take this and leave you in peace,” she indicated the book, and he inclined his head to her. “Enjoy the rest of your day,” he said, as she rose back up to her feet. “The same to you,” she inclined her own head, “I will no doubt see you tonight at dinner.”

* * *

It felt strange, retiring to different chambers after dinner. She still thought of them as Robb’s chambers, and being in them without him made her feel slightly on edge. Likely she would soon get used to it, it had taken her a time to get used to her own chambers when she had first arrived at Winterfell. Over the course of the day she had moved everything she owned into the space she would now be sharing with her husband. _Husband._ She still couldn’t quite get her head around that, and it made her feel a little bit giddy every time she referred to Robb by that title in her head. Myrcella closed the door of the chamber firmly behind her once she was inside, her eyes moving to the fire in the grate and seeing that it was burning well. She would still add more wood before she went to sleep, but it was perfectly warm for now.

Slowly she began to loosen the ties of her dress, her eyes finding Robb’s robe slung over the screen that hid the bath from view. She had borrowed it this morning, having realised that she would look utterly ridiculous retreating back to her old chambers in her wedding dress to retrieve her normal clothing. It had been so soft and warm, made of a thick flannel material that was far more substantial than her own robe. She bit her lip and wondered if he would mind her wearing it while he was gone. There was no reason she could think of why he wouldn’t allow her too, he had said that he wanted her to share this space with him after all. She slipped out of her dress and swiftly dropped her shift before pulling the robe down and wrapping it around her. Gods, it even smelled like him. She inhaled deeply before gathering up her dress and shift and tidying them away properly before settling herself at the vanity to take the pins out of her hair and brush it through before bed.

Once she was done she picked up the book she had acquired from Bran and retreated to the bed. She snuggled down in the furs, propping herself up against the pillows before opening up the book. It was difficult to focus on the words, as thoughts of Robb kept drifting into her head. She wondered what he was doing at this moment, whether he was still riding or if they had stopped to make camp for the night. Gods, she hoped he would be warm enough. She herself couldn’t help feeling that the bed was a little colder than it had been the night before. Colder without his presence. She knew it was preposterous, that with Robb’s robe and the mountain of furs on the bed she would be more than warm enough. Her hand went to the side of the bed where he had slept, and she sighed heavily. How could she miss him next to her after only one night of it?

It was no good. She couldn’t concentrate properly on the book to enjoy it, and so she snapped it closed and reached over to place it on the bedside table. Again, she looked towards the fire and decided she couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed again to toss a few more logs on it. Likely she would rue it in the morning, but she would deal with that when it came. She snuggled further down into the furs, rearranging the pillows so she could lay comfortably. Myrcella tugged Robb’s robe further up around her and sighed in contentment. She closed her eyes and determined to sleep, doing her best to ignore the absence of his warm body lying next to hers.

 


	14. XII: The Inside Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm away from home and have limited use of wifi so forgive my lateness with this chapter.
> 
> Big thanks to everyone who has left a comment or kudos, sorry this note is so quick!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> :)

 

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

They thundered into Torrhen’s Square, two hundred strong with the direwolf banners displayed proudly at the helm. Robb followed the banner bearers, leading in the rest of the men as they rode down the main street of the settlement. Some of the townsfolk called out cheerily, others looked distinctly wary as the royal party rode passed. _As well they might,_ Robb thought wryly as they drew ever closer to the main keep. The gates were open to them and they galloped right through, slowing as they came into the main courtyard. Robb’s eyes sought out the main doors, seeing Master Hellman stood at the foot of the steps with several members of his household. He thought the man looked slightly apprehensive, seeing him wringing his hands slightly. Robb dismounted, Billy there at once to take the reins of his horse. He thanked him before striding towards the welcoming party with the Smalljon on his right shoulder. His friend had insisted on coming, and Robb knew that part of him was hoping for a fight.

“Your Grace,” Master Hellman and those stood with him all dropped down to one knee, and Robb sighed heavily. Even after all these years as King he still found it intensely uncomfortable when people fell at his feet. “Rise,” he said tiredly, “we shall speak inside, my men will amuse themselves for a while. Jon, with me,” he inclined his head to the Smalljon, who nodded in response. “Of course, your Grace,” Master Hellman bowed his head, “please, allow me to escort you.” Robb inclined his head in agreement, managing a small smile for the Master. He turned at that, leading the way up the steps and into the keep, Robb and the Smalljon following closely behind him. Master Hellman led them to a small but comfortably parlour, calling for wine and insisting they sit themselves down. Robb didn’t argue with him, he was exhausted from the riding of the past few days and of the lack of sleep that accompanied staying out in the open. He would be glad to rest in a real bed, even if it were only for a few nights.

“Thank you,” he said to the serving girl who offered him a glass of wine. She promptly flushed scarlet and curtseyed to him before backing away hastily. Robb resisted rolling his eyes, instead taking a long sip of wine before turning his attention to Master Hellman. “Your walls are strong,” he stated, and the man inclined his head in agreement. “Your stores are kept within the walls,” Robb continued, “how is it that they are being so easily looted?” Master Hellman looked distinctly awkward at his question, clearing his throat slightly before he answered. “It is a question we have asked ourselves, your Grace, and the only way we have concluded is that someone within the keep must be helping the looters,” Master Hellman reported and Robb sighed heavily, sharing a look with the Smalljon. “Two of your guards were badly beaten, where were they found?” Robb asked.

“The lake gate, to the south of the keep,” he answered, and Robb took another sip of wine. “Then I think you have your point of entry,” the Smalljon said wryly, raising a brow in Robb’s direction. “Indeed, my lord,” Master Hellman agreed, “and we have made several inquiries but all have led nowhere. If anyone knows anything about the looters, they are keeping their mouths firmly closed.”

“Perhaps their tongues would be loosened if their king were to speak with them personally,” the Smalljon suggested with a slight smirk. “Indeed, my lord,” Master Hellman said again, inclining his head in agreement. “I think I will take a walk around the town, stretch my legs after such a long ride, would you join me, Jon?” Robb tilted his glass towards the Smalljon. “It would be my pleasure, your Grace,” he tilted his glass in return and they shared a knowing smile. Master Hellman looked rather nervous as they both drained their glasses and set them down before rising up from their seats. “We will return to the keep in due course, Master Hellman,” Robb allowed him a small smile and inclined his head before leading the Smalljon out of the parlour.

“What do you think?” his friend asked him as they walked back through the keep towards the main doors. “I’m thinking someone within the keep is indeed behind it, and I would wager they are making a decent profit to risk their position here,” Robb answered, and the Smalljon nodded his agreement. “So you think they are already selling the looted goods?” he raised a brow, and Robb nodded his confirmation. “I think we ought to take a turn about the markets, see what they have on offer,” Robb smiled grimly and the Smalljon clapped him on the back with a chuckle as they emerged from the keep. “It’s not quite dragons,” he said as they descended the steps, “but I am overdue a little adventure in my life.”

Robb couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head as they walked in step across the courtyard and towards the main gates. “I think this may be more mystery than adventure, Jon, but perhaps your imagination will serve you well,” he commented, his friend snorting in response as they passed under the gates. “Aye,” the Smalljon mused, “or perhaps I will find me a pretty maiden at the market.”

“Little changes about you,” Robb commented amusedly, inclining his head to an old man who had called out a greeting to him. “You cannot pretend you have not had your share of women,” the Smalljon responded, and he smiled wryly. “I am a respectable married man,” Robb told him, and the Smalljon cackled in response. “Married, aye,” he snorted, and Robb shoved at his shoulder. “Watch your tongue,” Robb said in a falsely scandalised tone, only to have the Smalljon shove his shoulder right back. “Will you have me arrested for treason?” his friend teased him, and he glared at him. “Don’t tempt me,” Robb said pointedly, but the Smalljon merely grinned. “Serious face now, your Grace, we are approaching the market,” he said, and Robb rolled his eyes.

“Just wander through, keep a sharp eye for anything suspicious but at least _try_ and be discreet,” Robb murmured to him as they joined the crowd at the markets. It wasn’t horrendously busy, but there were enough people milling around to make sure that he and the Smalljon could blend in. The only thing that ever gave Robb away was his colouring, he looked far too much like a Tully to be anyone but Robb Stark. He considered pulling his hood up, but decided that that would look even more suspicious. By now word would have spread through the town that the royal party had arrived, and so he left it down and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. He didn’t see anything that aroused his suspicions, but his eye was caught by a stall selling fur stoles, hats and gloves. A slight smile played on his lips as he thought that perhaps he could take Myrcella back a gift. Likely it would only make her roll her eyes, but he also thought she would find it amusing.

“A moment,” Robb inclined his head towards the stall and the Smalljon nodded his agreement, following him through the throng of people until they reached the stall. “Your Grace,” the woman tending it dropped into a curtsey at once, and Robb wished that she would hurry up and stand straight again. He did not need to draw unnecessary attention to himself. “Please, miss, there is no need,” he said insistently, and she rose back up with a slight blush. “What are these made of, rabbit?” Robb enquired, touching his fingers to a pair of light grey gloves which looked dainty enough to suit Myrcella. “Aye, your Grace,” she confirmed, and he nodded slightly. When winter really set in she would no doubt need something more substantial, but these would do nicely for now. “How much?” he asked the woman. “Six silver, your Grace,” she answered him, and he nodded, reaching beneath his cloak and into his doublet to pull out his coin purse.

He loosened the strings and tipped some coin into his hands, counting out seven stags and returning the rest to his purse. “One extra for your trouble,” he tipped the coin into the woman’s waiting hands and her blush heightened. “Thank you, your Grace, I will wrap them for you,” she stammered out, lifting his chosen purchase and wrapping them in a sheet of thick parchment. “Do you have a preference of colour, for the ribbon?” she asked him expectantly, and he cast his eyes over the assortment she had. “Green,” he finally said, thinking about Myrcella’s eyes. “Very good, your Grace,” she said, wrapping the ribbon around the package and tying it neatly. “Thank you, miss,” Robb inclined his head to her as he took the wrapped parcel from her and tucked it beneath his cloak. “You’re most welcome, your Grace,” she bobbed a slight curtsey and he offered a smile before turning away.

“I suppose you ought to take the queen a gift, since you deserted her the morning after your wedding,” the Smalljon commented as they walked on. “Aye,” Robb agreed, “though I would hardly call it desertion. Believe me, I was most reluctant to leave.” The Smalljon chuckled at that, apologising to a man he knocked shoulders with as they passed through the crowd. “Time was you were most reluctant to marry her,” his friend reminded him, and Robb smiled wryly. “Times change,” he said simply, skirting round a group of hagglers at the meat stall. “And I suppose her beauty has naught to do with it,” the Smalljon quipped in a teasing tone and Robb scowled at him. “Her beauty is not just on the outside,” he said seriously, “she is not the girl I feared her to be.”

“Good,” the Smalljon said just as seriously, and Robb smiled properly. “I’ve seen nothing obvious, perhaps we could try the tavern?” Robb suggested, and the Smalljon grinned. “Now you’re talking, Stark,” he clapped him on the back and Robb rolled his eyes, turning to head back the way they had come. “Hold up,” the Smalljon stopped him in his tracks and he paused. “What is it?” Robb asked him, following his line of sight to a fish stall on the edge of the market. “A hunch,” the Smalljon said, frowning slightly. “I will follow your lead,” Robb invited him, gesturing to the stall. A young girl, perhaps even younger than Myrcella, was tending the stall. She didn’t seem particularly nervous as they approached, curtseying politely and offering formalities. Robb frowned, hoping that the Smalljon did indeed have a hunch, and not just had his eye caught by the seller.

“Are these fresh?” the Smalljon gestured to a palette of salted fish. “Aye, my lord, caught just this morning,” the girl reported to him, and he nodded slowly. “Caught where?” he asked next, and Robb rolled his eyes, wondering where he was going with this. “The lake, my lord, as all the fish is caught,” the girl answered him evenly. “Interesting,” the Smalljon said slowly, “how a saltwater fish can be caught in a freshwater lake.” The girl’s eyes widened at that, and for the first time she looked nervous. Robb’s brow furrowed, as he stepped a little closer to better examine the fish. “The keep gets imports from Saltspear, does it not?” the Smalljon murmured quietly to him, and he nodded confirmation. “Aye, preserved in the stores,” Robb said heavily.

“Who delivers your fish, miss?” the Smalljon asked the girl, and she shrugged her shoulders. “Many fishermen, my father deals with them, I just sell from the stall. People are more likely to buy from a young girl, that’s what he says. I don’t know who he trades with, I just make sure the fish are shifted,” she told them, a slight shake in her voice that had Robb narrowing his eyes slightly. “And where is your father?” the Smalljon asked her, only to be greeted by another shrug. “Can’t answer that, my lord, apologies,” she bobbed a little curtsey and Robb sighed. “Come on,” he murmured, “we are wasting our time here. I’ll have some of the men come down and keep an eye on her.” The Smalljon nodded at that, before inclining his head towards the girl. “Thank you for your time, miss,” he said politely, and she nodded curtly in response.

The Smalljon stopped off at another stall near-by to get the name of the girl’s father, after which he and Robb made their way back to the keep. Robb found some of the men loitering around the armoury and he called them over, sending three of them down to the market to keep an eye on the girl and keep a lookout for any other suspicious activity. It would be impossible to tell stolen grains and simple foods apart, but fine wines and rarer meats would be easier to spot. He asked them to be discreet, and told them to stay away from the tavern until they had reported back to him later in the evening. They had agreed with him and set off into the town, leaving Robb and the Smalljon to head back into the keep.

* * *

His men returned later in the evening when Robb was sharing a drink with Master Hellman, the Smalljon, and several others, in the parlour after dinner. They did not return empty handed. A middle aged man was prodded through the door ahead of them, shifting nervously from foot-to-foot with his eyes darting about the place. “Who is this?” Robb asked, looking expectantly towards his men. “Loric, your Grace, the fish man,” one of them answered him, and Robb turned his attention to Loric. “Are you aware that your daughter is selling stolen fish from your stall?” Robb asked him evenly, seeing his tongue dart out to lick his lips nervously. “Alla buys from many men, she cannot be expected to know where it all comes from,” Loric said. “She is a good-natured girl, and trusting. Would be easy for some to take advantage of her.”

“I’m sure,” Robb said drily, “though I am somewhat confused, as your daughter seemed to think that you deal with sourcing the produce, and she merely sells it on.” Robb watched as Loric’s face drained of colour, seeing the Smalljon smirk out of the corner of his eyes. “I think you were offered a way to make more coin,” Robb said, “and I do not think you are the only merchant who sells at the market to be offered such an opportunity. You have names for me, Loric, names that I would be very interested in hearing. You will write them all down, and I will consider a more lenient punishment.”

“I cannot lose my trade, your Grace, my family relies on me, please,” Loric pleaded with him, meeting Robb’s eyes. “The names, Loric,” Robb said softly, and the man nodded his head in defeat. “Oversee it,” Robb directed towards the Smalljon. “Aye, your Grace,” he made to stand up but Robb halted him, leaning in to murmur one last instruction to him. “We need the name of the man inside the keep, have the men round up the rest of them, but bring that name back to us here,” Robb told him, and the Smalljon nodded. “It will be done, your Grace,” he said. With that he did stand up, gesturing for the men to escort Loric ahead of him. No one else in the room spoke until the door was firmly closed behind the departing company.

“How would you punish him, your Grace?” Master Hellman asked him at once. “He can keep his trade, he will need it now winter is coming,” Robb said, “but he will pay a percentage of his profit back to the keep until his debt is paid.” Master Hellman nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “But how will you decide the amount of his debt, your Grace?” he asked next, and Robb smiled wryly. “Well, that all depends on how well his list turns out. I do not want to be sold false tales. If the names he gives us prove to be useful then the debt will be less, if he sends us chasing the wrong men, it will be far higher,” Robb answered, draining his glass of wine. “May we be informed of the extra instruction you gave?” Master Hellman tentatively enquired.

“I merely requested that the name of the man conspiring within the keep was brought to me,” Robb said, holding out his empty glass to be refilled by the serving girl. He thanked her when it was topped up, and she blushed just as she had done before, before scurrying away again. “Very good, your Grace,” Master Hellman said, and Robb could see his eyes suspiciously scanning the rest of the company they were keeping. “I wager it will not be long before we have our answer,” Robb said, calmly taking a sip of wine, his own eyes casting about the room. Two of his own men were stood against the opposite wall, and they were well armed. Robb himself wore mail under his doublet, and it had been a long time since he went anywhere without his sword hanging from his belt. One could never be too careful.

It was another twenty minutes or so of idle chatter before there was a knock on the door. Master Hellman called for the visitor to come in, and Robb leaned forward slightly in his chair as the Smalljon appeared. “Do we have a name?” Robb asked keenly, and the Smalljon inclined his head. “Indeed we do, your Grace. Loric named the steward, Elfred,” he reported, and the company in the parlour began to whisper furiously to one another. Robb took a breath, looking towards Master Hellman to see his reaction. He had paled slightly, an almost disbelieving expression on his face. “He has keys to the gates, I presume?” Robb directed towards the Master, and he nodded. “Aye, one of the sets. The others are in the possession of myself, my brother, my son, and the captain of the guards. There is one other set, but it is kept locked away in my study,” Master Hellman told him.

“Where would your steward be?” Robb asked next, noticing that the older man looked faintly disorientated. “In his quarters, no doubt,” he answered, and Robb nodded. “Would you like to send your own men to apprehend him? Or would you prefer my men to take care of it?” Robb enquired, and Master Hellman’s features suddenly set as though frozen in stone. “My men will take care of him,” he practically snarled, “a traitor under my own roof. I could have him hanged for this.”

“Aye, you could,” Robb agreed. Looters stealing from the stores was one thing, but organising continual robberies and profiting from it was quite another. Not to mention the abuse of his position, and the savage beating of two of the town guards. “But first I will see what he has to say for himself, you,” he nodded towards one of their company, “fetch enough guards to apprehend him and take him down to the cells. He can have a night to think on what he is accused of, and I will speak with him in the morning. Are you inclined to stay for the outcome, your Grace?”

“Tempting as it is, I do not think you need my presence any longer. You know my thoughts on the punishment of Loric, I will leave the rest to you, but do not forget that winter is coming, and these men have families. Punish them by all means, but provision must be given to their families,” Robb said. “I am glad to have assisted in this matter, please do not hesitate to send word and inform me of what you have decided to do here, I am very interested in the outcome,” Robb inclined his head as he stood up, outstretching his hand to Master Hellman, who stood up at once and grasped it, bowing his head. “Thank you for your assistance in this matter, your Grace,” he said seriously, “I wish you a safe journey back to Winterfell, will you leave on the morrow?”

“Aye, first light,” Robb confirmed, before turning towards the Smalljon. “Make sure you inform the men, and then get some rest. I know I am more than ready to retire for the night,” he instructed him, and the Smalljon voiced his agreement before bowing his head and making his way from the room once more. “Goodnight, Master Hellman,” Robb nodded to him, “gentlemen,” he added, inclining his head in turn to them. “Thank you for you gracious hospitality,” he finished, smiling between them all before he turned and made his way from the parlour. He breathed a sigh of relief once out in the hallway, glad that the troubles had been so easily fixed, and even more glad that he would be on his way home come first light.

His thoughts strayed to Myrcella as he climbed the stairs and walked easily towards his chamber for the night. He could not help but think of her sleeping alone, and his mind wandered to how soft and lovely she felt in his arms. Gods he could not wait to get back to her, to be with her entirely again and feel her bare against him once more. Just thinking about her was enough to elicit a stirring in his breeches, and he swallowed hard, trying to think about something else. Anything else. He let himself into the chamber that had been set aside for him, knowing just from an initial glance that it was the finest guest chamber in the keep. He eyed the desk in the corner and crossed to it, not feeling quite ready to sleep just yet.

He decided to write to his wife. His _wife._ It still felt strange to associate that title with her. For so many years she had been his unknown and unwanted betrothed. Now she was his wife, and though he could not claim to know everything of her, he did know enough to be sure that he wanted her. He pulled some parchment towards him and loaded one of the quills set to the side with ink from the pot. For a moment he wavered, wondering how he should address her. In the end he settled on simply writing her name instead of her title. He wrote that he was well and that the trouble at Torrhen’s Square had been dealt with. He wrote that he would stay one night within the keep and then begin the journey back to Winterfell. Back to her. He couldn’t help but tell her that he couldn’t wait to be with her again, to have her in his arms again. That was not something he had ever imagined writing to her, and yet it all came so easily to him now.

Being apart from her, even just for this short time, had made him appreciate just how much of an impact she had on his everyday life. He missed her smile. Her voice. Her laugh. He missed the way she teased him and the pressure of her hand on his arm as they walked their familiar loop around the gardens. He missed the softness of her skin. The way her fingers traced the scar above the crease in his elbow. Her body beneath his. The gasp that left her mouth when he pressed kisses along her neck. Her warmth. Her glorious warmth, and her even breath against his chest as she drifted to sleep in his arms. Gods. He put the quill down and put his head in his hands. Thinking about Myrcella this way was something he had thought impossible not so long ago. She had captivated him though. Enchanted him before he knew what was happening. He couldn’t be sorry though. So long ago before everything had gone wrong he had dreamt of having a wife he could be truly happy with. Against all the odds he had found one, and he could not wait to get back to Winterfell to be with her once more.

 


	15. XIII: A Queen's Delight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has left kudos, I'm over 400 now which is just awesome!
> 
> So, this chapter is definitely 'mature', again, as with last time, if you think I should bump the rating up to 'explicit', then let me know in the comments. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!
> 
> :)

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

 

She woke from her slumber to see that it was still dark out. Slowly she moved her head to the side to see that the fire was still burning brightly. That meant that she could not have been asleep for that long. She had not meant to fall asleep at all, she had meant to stay awake so that she could greet Robb when he arrived back. Her hand moved up to massage her neck which felt stiff from the awkward angle at which she had fallen asleep. She had thought he would be back by now, but there was no clattering of hooves against stones no matter how hard she strained her ears. Slowly she got out of bed, moving her neck gingerly from side to side as she walked to the window and peered out. Nothing. Nothing to see but the flickering of the flames atop the castle ramparts and the odd shadow of a guard passing by them.

Myrcella sighed in defeat and closed the drapes. She would go down to the main parlour once more and see if there was any word. If not, she would have to give up and go to sleep. She threw a few more logs on the fire before wrapping her stole around her and making her way from the chamber. Down the hallways she went before descending the stairs and padding her way towards the parlour. She opened the door as quietly as possible, her eyes going at once to the small table next to the door where letters for the family were usually deposited if they came late and were unurgent. There was nothing there, and she tried not to feel disappointed. “You’re up late,” Lady Stark’s voice made her jump, and she snapped her eyes towards the sound and saw her good-mother sat in an armchair by the fire with her needlework.

“As are you, my lady,” Myrcella replied weakly, moving a little further into the room so she didn’t appear rude. “Needlework relaxes me before bed, likely I will retire soon,” Lady Stark said with a smile, and Myrcella returned the gesture. “I was waiting up for Robb,” Myrcella confessed, “only I fell asleep for a while, when I woke I thought I would come and see if any word had come.” She couldn’t help but sound hopeful at the end, thinking that perhaps word had come and Lady Stark had already opened and read it. “No word,” her good-mother smiled kindly, “if the men are weary then they would likely have elected to stay at Cerwyn for the night. They will be here tomorrow afternoon if that is the case.”

“No doubt you’re right,” Myrcella smiled, trying to hide her disappointment. “I will leave you in peace now, my lady. Good night.” Her good-mother returned her sentiments warmly and Myrcella backed out of the room again, closing the door behind her. She couldn’t help but cast a hopeful look towards the doors of the keep as she crossed the entrance hall. It was to no avail, they stayed firmly shut, and there was no sound of anything out in the courtyard. She sighed heavily and resigned herself to the fact that Robb would not be back until the next afternoon. It was not the end of the world, she had made it through this far, and he would soon be back with her. She bit her lip to hide her smile as she made her way back to _their_ chambers, remembering what he had written in the letter he had sent. She had not been expecting him to write to her at all, and the contents had warmed her heart.

Finally she made it back, letting out a slight sigh of exasperation as she closed the door behind her. She supposed there was nothing else to be done but sleep, and so she began to undress herself, tossing her dress and her shift aside before wrapping Robb’s robe around her. She had slept in it all week, it helped to settle her when she woke in the night, breathing in his lingering scent to calm her pounding heart. Not all of her dreams were bad. Some were of him, and they made her blush to even think of them. They were exhilarating, and often caused her to wake with her stomach clenched in knots and a feeling like fire between her thighs. It was a sin to be wanton. That is what her Septa had always taught her. Women should not lust for their husbands, merely do their duty by them in the bedchamber and bear them children. _Well_ , Myrcella thought, _whoever decided on those rules had obviously never come across a man like Robb._

She shuddered slightly, tying his robe a little more tightly around her before she went to the fire once more and tossed on as much wood as it could take. As she straightened up she heard the opening of the door and she whirled around at once, her heart beating wildly in her chest. It calmed somewhat when she saw who had entered, her lips smiling at once at the sight of her exhausted looking husband. His eyes seemed to brighten on seeing her, a wide smile stretching across his own lips. “It seems like I have returned just in time,” he said, his gaze almost wolfish as he looked her up and down. His eyes on her made her shiver, but not at all in an unpleasant way. “Indeed, I was just about to retire for the night,” she told him, “I had just about given up on you. Your mother thought you might stay at Cerwyn, did you just get back? I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Only a few of us rode back, the rest have indeed elected to stay at Cerwyn,” he explained to her, depositing a wrapped package onto the desk before making to remove his cloak and furs. “Here,” Myrcella crossed quickly to him, “let me help. You look utterly exhausted, perhaps you should have stayed at Cerwyn with the others.” He hummed in response as she draped his furs over the back of the chair before unclasping his cloak and laying it aside. “Perhaps you’re right, wife,” he growled, snatching at her upper arms and pulling her against him. “But that would have meant spending another night in another bed that was not shared with you,” he continued, his words seemingly making her melt against him. “You missed me?” she whispered, letting her own hands run along his chest and settle on his shoulders. “More than I imagined,” he whispered back, clasping his arms around her waist and bending his head to crash his lips against hers.

She held on more tightly to his shoulders as the force of his kiss almost had her staggering backwards. He held her fast though, somehow manoeuvring her back towards the bed as their tongues tangled in a delicious dance that had a slight moan escaping the back of her throat. Robb’s hands found the tie of the robe she was wrapped in and her stomach clenched, her thighs twitching slightly of their own accord. He pulled his lips from hers in the next moment and she wanted them back at once. He merely grinned down on her, toying with the tie of the robe. “This looks familiar,” he said, his voice dripping with unmistakable lust. “You ought to claim it back quickly, I have grown rather fond of it,” she replied breathlessly, and he grinned wickedly. In one swift move he tugged it loose before shoving her gently so that she toppled back onto the bed.

She lay there breathlessly while he hurriedly took care of his own clothing, biting down on her bottom lip as he pulled his tunic up over his head and tossed it aside. When he moved to unlace his breeches her thighs seemed to twitch again, unbearable heat pooling between them. This time she didn’t look away as he released himself, exhaling slowly as he revealed his hardened length. By the Gods, had that really been able to fit inside her? He came closer to the foot of the bed when he was fully bare and Myrcella’s heart pounded, her hips involuntarily raising up from the bed slightly. Oh Gods, if she hadn’t know it before then she damn well knew it now. She wanted him. She wanted all of him, and she had no shame in admitting it. Her Septa be damned, if being wanton was a sin then she would gladly take her punishment for it when the time came.

Robb crawled onto the bottom of the bed slowly, and she shifted herself up onto her elbows so she could inch her way up towards the pillows. “Are you trying to escape me, wife?” he chuckled at her, his hands finding her calves and slowly making their way up her legs as she spread them to allow him to crawl between them. “A futile attempt,” she teased him back breathlessly, “how easily you caught me, husband. How do you intend to punish me for my insubordination?” He pressed a kiss just above her navel in response, the whiskers of his beard tickling irresistibly. “Don’t worry, wife,” he murmured against her skin as he kissed his way towards her breasts. “I am sure to think of something fitting.” Myrcella could only hum in agreement and pleasure as he took one of her buds into his mouth and began suckling like a needy babe.

His hands appeared to be everywhere, making every inch of skin they touched tingle in delight. They pulled the robe further away from her, and she was happy to pull her arms free of it and rake her nails down his back. He groaned against her breast, one of his hands coming to settle on her hip and rub firmly up and down her skin. Myrcella’s breathing was ragged in her own ears, and she couldn’t help but rock her hips up towards Robb. The ache between her thighs was begging to be relieved, and as incredible as his mouth felt on her breast, it was not enough. It was not nearly enough. As though reading her thoughts he abandoned her breast, kissing between them before he kissed down lower. Myrcella wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but her breathing was too ragged to form words. She lifted her head slightly as he kissed just above the most intimate part of her. Almost as though he sensed her eyes on him he lifted his head, as he wrapped his hands around her thighs.

“Robb?” she breathed questioningly, her chest heaving. He didn’t respond with words. He responded by pressing a kiss between her legs and she inhaled sharply, her hands fisting in the furs atop the bed. Robb kissed her again, and this time his tongue flicked against part of her that made her body seemingly convulse. A gasp and a strangled cry left her mouth as he did it again, unable to stop her hips from rolling up towards him. Robb seemed encouraged, gliding and swirling his tongue against her so deliciously that her head felt like it was spinning uncontrollably. Somewhere she was aware that she was moaning wantonly, and that her hands were scrabbling against the furs and sheets as though they were the only thing holding her in the real world. Because nothing else felt real as Robb continued to lick, and kiss, and suck at the most secret part of her body.

Her stomach tightened and her thighs began to shake. Instinct had her pressing them together as Robb drove a pleasure through her that she felt sure would kill her if it continued any longer. He denied her instincts, his hands keeping her thighs firmly apart as he continued to feast between them. Her whole body was twitching now, almost violent convulsions rippling through her as she thrashed against the bed. Her back arched up and an agonised cry came right from the very pit of her stomach and released into their bedchamber as all her tensed muscles suddenly relaxed all at once. Vaguely she was aware that Robb had released his hold on her thighs, and slowly she became aware of him kissing his way back up her body. She lay there dazed, panting hard to regain her breath as her heart hammered in her chest. Her thighs still twitched involuntarily, and little spasms shot through her entire body. Every pore tingled deliciously, as though she had just been shattered into a million pieces and then put back together again.

It was incredible. Indescribable. So much pleasure should surely not be allowed. Perhaps that is why Septa cautioned her against wanton thoughts and actions. Surely experiencing such a feeling was too much for one person to take. Myrcella closed her eyes momentarily as her head began to clear a little more, becoming aware of her skin being damp across her forehead and between her breasts. She could feel it behind her legs as well, and between her thighs. By the Gods she must look a mess, but Robb was looking at her as though she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen when she opened her eyes again. “How?” she breathed, the only word she felt capable of uttering at his moment. He smiled widely in response, running his hand across her brow to push her damp hair away from her forehead. “I promised,” he said simply, and she just about managed to smile at him before he leaned down to kiss her.

She lost herself in him. Tasting the difference of him and realising with a jolt that it was because she was tasting herself on his lips. He obviously noticed her moment of surprise as he pulled back, his fingers slowly coming to caress along her cheek. “Are you alright?” he asked softly, and she bit down on her lip. “I am not sure how a person is ever supposed to become accustomed to such a thing,” she told him honestly, and he dropped a light kiss to the tip of her nose. “I don’t think it would be the same, if it were something we were to grow used to,” he responded, and she hummed her agreement, nodding slightly. She shifted her body a little in the next moment and felt Robb’s hardened length pressing against her stomach. It was enough to make her shudder, the ghost of the pleasure he had just brought her rippling through her body.

Myrcella swallowed hard, deciding to test her daring. She wanted both of them to experience such pleasure together, and she could think of only one way that could happen. Slowly she pushed against his shoulders, and he frowned slightly but rolled away from her and onto his back as she had intended him to do. Gathering her courage she sat herself up, still feeling rather shaky from his previous ministrations. Robb was watching her intently as she slowly moved herself so that she could swing one of her legs over him and straddle his lap. She had a perfect vantage point from which to admire his chest from here, and so she decided to do so, letting her eyes take in every inch. Every tiny detail of it. Little scars flecked his ribcage, and she hesitantly moved her fingers to press to each of them. “Tiltyard. Grazed on a rock at the hot springs. Arrow,” he spoke the cause of each as she touched them in turn, without her even asking him to.

She moved her eyes to his and let her hand slowly wander firmly up his chest, feeling him exhale deeply at her progress. When she reached the bottom of the biggest of his scars she hesitated. “Dragon?” she whispered, and he nodded his head. “Can I?” she asked, and again he nodded, this time sitting up slowly beneath her until he was facing her. Slowly she traced her fingers over each scar. Each scrape of a dragons talon. Gods it must have hurt him, but still he had fought on. Fought on and won. “They fascinate you?” he asked her questioningly, his tone soft but curious. “Your body tells stories. Each one a different tale,” she ran her hands over his shoulders before meeting his eyes. “It makes you more beautiful, my own skin is so dull in comparison,” she told him, and he moved closer to press kisses down her cheek.

“Your skin is flawless,” he murmured as he kissed down her neck. “Your stories are all hidden inside, hidden beneath this unmarked mystery,” he continued, running his hands firmly down her back before moving them to settle on her hips. “That in itself, makes you beautiful,” he finished, pressing a lingering kiss to her shoulder as she sighed happily against him. Myrcella bit her lip gently after a long moment of quiet, lifting her head up to meet his eyes again as she raised her hips slightly. He held her eyes as she positioned herself so she could feel his length pressing against her. Slowly she wiggled her hips until she understood where he fit, slowly allowing herself to sink down onto him. This time there was no sting of pain, just an odd stretching sensation which felt neither pleasant not unpleasant. Robb let out a stifled groan when all of his length was buried inside her, and she could only imagine that it felt good to him.

Once she grew used to him being there she shifted her hips back and forth slowly, feeling a kind of tingling pleasantness from the friction being built up by her movement. Robb’s hands on her hips guided her, and she could tell from his darkened eyes and the odd groan that left his mouth that he was enjoying being inside her. For her it felt pleasant, more so the more she moved, but it was still nothing compared to what he had done to her before. Just the memory of it was enough to make her stomach clench, and her nails pinch slightly into his shoulders. She opened her mouth to ask him, but the words wouldn’t come. They sounded mortifying in her mind, but he had told her to let him know what she liked and what she didn’t like. She bit down on her lip, and summoned up all the courage she had inside her. “Robb?” she gasped slightly as her next movement took him deeper into her than she had expected.

“Hmm?” his response was half groan as the tips of his fingers clenched tightly around her hips. “Would you…would you touch me?” she asked him, knowing she was blushing. “Would you touch me where you kissed me before?” she specified, somehow managing to hold his eyes as she requested it of him. He didn’t answer with words, he merely moved one hand from her hip and skilfully ran it down her lower stomach until he reached where they were joined. He touched that little bud, that part of her that seemed to hold the key to all her pleasure within it. She hummed her approval, her hips moving that little bit faster as his touch seemed to intensify the pleasure she was feeling at having him inside her. He pressed harder, circling slowly, and her thighs clenched, her nails pinching into his shoulders again as she rocked her hips harder.

Her increase of speed seemed to encourage his own, his fingers toying deftly and firmly between her legs as she continued to take him into her over and over ever more quickly. She was moaning before she could stop herself, her head thrown back as her movements became ever more erratic and quick. Nothing was coherent to her anymore, nothing but the feeling of Robb inside her. She was aware of his own grunts and groans of pleasure. She could feel their wet skin slicking together as she pressed her torso against his, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and working her hips as fast as she could manage. One of his hands was still tightly gripped around her hip, she could feel his fingertips digging into her flesh as he encouraged the relentless movement of her hips. She panted against him, every muscle exhausted yet poised for release as his other hand still furiously circled that bundle of pleasure.

Gods she was ready to explode. She was ready for it again, all of her poised and ready to snap at any moment. “Oh Gods, I need…I need…” she cried almost desperately against his ear as black spots began to pop behind her eyes. Her head was spinning again and her body was shaking as she clung so tightly to Robb that she imagined she might be hurting him. She couldn’t loosen her grip though, if she let go she would be lost to the abyss. She needed him here to cling to when everything shattered into oblivion again. Almost as she thought that she felt it, and she almost screamed out in sweet, relieved agony. Aware of her clenching tightly around Robb, and aware of his own moan of relief in her ear as he pulsed within her. His hands came to tangle in her hair as she buried herself in the crook of his neck and tried to steady her breathing. “Gods,” he gasped, clumsy kisses being placed along her hairline as he turned his head towards her. “Gods, Myrcella.”

She could say nothing in response. She wasn’t even sure what the correct and coherent response would be. He didn’t seem to mind. He seemed content enough to lay his head down against her own and stroke his hands gently through her tangled tresses. Eventually his hands slipped back down to her hips to ease her from his length. For a moment she mourned his absence, before she realised it was foolish. They could not stay joined together, no matter how wonderful it felt. He placed his hands flat on her back and collapsed down against the pillows, pulling her with him. His breathing was still ragged, and she could feel how quickly his heart was beating as she slid one of her hands down to rest against it. Slowly she straightened her legs out and slipped from his body so she was pressed against his side. As though in response he grasped at some loose furs and draped them over them carelessly.

“I know what you meant now,” she told him quietly, her voice still slightly breathy. He chuckled breathlessly in response, turning his head to press a firm kiss to her forehead. “I only want to satisfy you, as you satisfy me,” he murmured against her skin, and her stomach jumped a little in delight. “You are leading me into sin,” she said in an amused tone, and she could feel him smile against her forehead. “How so? Is a man not allowed to ravish his wife?” he asked her and she giggled slightly. “A man may do whatever he pleases, but my Septa always warned me against wanton thoughts,” she answered him, and he snorted slightly. “Rest assured, the Old Gods have no such rules,” he told her quietly, “and we were married before them. What happens in our marriage bed is of no consequence to the Seven.”

“Do you really believe that?” she asked him curiously, and he sighed slightly. “I have no idea, the thought had never entered my head before, and if I’m honest, I’m not sure I am at all interested,” he told her, and she smiled, clenching her hand slightly in the muscles of his chest. “However,” he continued, trailing his fingertips up and down her spine, “I am very much interested in what wanton thoughts reside in my wife’s head.” Myrcella giggled again, biting down on her lip gently before she lifted her head so she could look down on him. “Do you really want to know?” she whispered, and he grinned wolfishly at her. “I would delight to know,” he replied, “but perhaps you’d best save them until the morning, I am rather exhausted thanks to you keeping me awake so late.”

“I am not sure the blame for that can be lain entirely at my feet, your Grace,” she teased him, and he raised a hand to begin twirling a lock of her hair around and around his fingers. “Hmm, perhaps not, I suppose the Gods are to blame for making you so wanton,” he said slyly, and she slapped her hand playfully against his chest. “And I suppose your own desires are none existent?” she questioned him, cocking her head to one side. “When faced with a woman as glorious as you, I am sure any man would crumble and succumb to his desires,” he told her, slowly releasing the curl he had wound around his fingers. “You once told me that you didn’t have a pretty way with words, something tells me you were not quite being entirely honest,” she said teasingly, and he rolled his eyes at her. “It must be your southern courtesies wearing off on me,” he muttered, and she smiled widely at him. “Careful, Robb,” she warned him as she settled her head down against his chest; “you will be curtseying next.”


	16. XIV: Honesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos everyone!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter.
> 
> :)

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

He had woken before Myrcella, keeping her nestled against him for a long time before he simply had to move, padding to the washroom adjoining his chamber. Once he had splashed his face with cold water and relieved himself he padded back out, seeing her still sleeping peacefully. She looked so sweet and small amidst the vastness of his bed, nestled beneath the furs with an utterly content look on her sleeping face. He ran his hand through his hair as he looked at her, remembering the incredible welcome he had received on his return home. His exhaustion had been forgotten the moment he had entered the room to see her standing there with his robe wrapped around her. He could see it tangled up amongst the furs on the bed and he moved to extract it, Myrcella stirring slightly as he did so. Thankfully she didn’t wake, and he wrapped the robe about his own body before thinking on what to occupy himself with until she woke up.

There was no question of him leaving her before she opened her eyes, the Gods only knew what would go through her mind if she woke to find him gone. Myrcella may be confident and teasing, but he knew that a vulnerability resided within her, and he knew damn well that she was hiding the extent of it. Somehow he guessed that she would feel abandoned and imagine she had done something to displease him if she woke to find him gone. That was the last thing he wanted her to feel, and it could not be farther from the truth. He sighed. It was tempting to slip beneath the furs and press himself against her again, but then he would run the risk of waking her and he imagined she would be glad of the sleep after their late night. He was used to early starts and surviving on little sleep, there was no reason for him to subject Myrcella to it though.

In the end he decided to write some letters, given the wedding and riding out to Torrhen’s Square he had not had the chance to respond to Theon or Jon. He decided to do it now, approaching the desk and moving Myrcella’s gift aside carefully. He would have to remember to give it to her when she eventually woke up. For now he would occupy himself with letter writing, pulling a sheet of parchment from the drawer and rummaging as quietly as he could for a quill and ink. He found what he wanted in the end, dipping the quill into the ink before he began scratching out a reply to Theon. His friend’s letter had been mostly full of his usual vulgarity, and Robb knew well enough how to respond to him. Jon’s letter would require more thought, and his mind was not yet fully coherent this morning.

When he finished the first letter he lay it aside for the ink to dry properly, pulling another sheet of parchment towards him to write the next. He had barely written _Dear Jon_ , when he heard a shuffling behind him. He turned his head to see Myrcella clearly waking from her slumber. Her eyes were bleary and confused as she pushed her hair and the tangled furs away from her. She looked confused. Adorably so. She turned her head, her hand patting the space next to her as though she were trying to find him. “Morning,” he said softly, and she looked towards him with wide eyes. “I thought you were gone,” she said, her voice thick with sleep, “I thought I’d been dreaming.”

“A good dream, I hope,” he said amusedly, seeing a light blush adorn her cheeks. “Very good,” she confirmed to him, and he grinned. “What are you doing?” she asked him, as she stretched her body awake. “Writing a few letters, nothing of great importance,” he answered her, and she hummed in response, eyeing him for a moment before she shifted up in the bed. “I see you have reclaimed your robe,” she said in a slightly irritable fashion and he chuckled. “Would you like me to pass you your own?” he asked her in response, and she nodded her head. “Please,” she confirmed as he got up from his desk and went to fetch hers from where it was hanging behind the door. “You will need a warmer one soon,” he commented as he fingered the silk of it, handing it to her when he reached the side of the bed. “No doubt,” she agreed with him.

“Speaking of warmer things...” he trailed off, turning back to his desk to pick up the parcel for her that he had set aside. “I have a gift for you,” he smiled at her, tuning back to the bed to see her sat on the edge of it with her robe wrapped loosely around her. For a moment he allowed his eyes to linger on the tantalising roundness of her breasts which were only half covered in silks. She seemed to catch his line of sight, a light blush coming to her cheeks as she bit down gently on her bottom lip. “A gift?” she raised her brows questioningly after a minute, and he shook his head stupidly. “Yes,” he confirmed, “here, I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” she said, taking the parcel from him and toying with the ribbon for a moment. He wondered what she was thinking, but before he could ask her she was pulling on it and winding it away from the wrapping. Robb seemed to hold his breath as she carefully unwrapped the gloves, though he began to breathe more easily when her eyes lit up and a laugh escaped her. “Tell me you didn’t finally go to the seamstress for some while I was away,” he said in an amused tone, and she raised her head and beamed at him. “No, I didn’t,” she assured him before standing up, leaving the gloves and their wrappings on the bed. “Thank you,” she said as she came towards him, her hands coming to lay on his chest. “It was nothing,” he smiled, and she looked up at him with an odd expression on her face.

“It wasn’t nothing,” she shook her head, “you thought about me while you were away, you took the trouble to do something nice for me. That means something to me, it means a lot.” He had no words to respond to her, so he settled for planting his hands on her waist and bending his head to kiss her. She kissed him back eagerly, her arms coming to wrap around his neck, as she stepped back slightly, ensuring that he took a few more steps closer to the bed. “What are you up to?” he asked her slyly, breaking their kiss and looking down into her mischievous eyes. “Well,” she cocked her head to one side, her fingers coming to twist in the curls at the nape of his neck. “I had thought to thank you for my gift,” she raised one brow in a perfect arch, and Robb needed no more encouragement to shove her back onto the bed where she lay giggling, a shriek of delight leaving her when he pounced on top of her.

* * *

“You do realise I am going to be late for council?” Robb said, stuffing his tunic into his breeches as his eyes hunted the room for his boots. He had tossed them aside carelessly the night before, and he was regretting the action now he needed them. Myrcella seemed unconcerned as she sat at the vanity in his robe, slowly brushing her hair through with a slightly glazed look in her eyes. He shook his head at her, finally spotting one of his boots and crossing the room to pick it up, finding the other nearby. He pulled them on quickly before grabbing a doublet from the dresser and pulling it on. After fastening it he moved to his wife and placed his hands on her shoulders. She jumped slightly, her eyes surprised as he met them in the mirror. “Were you as far away as you looked?” he asked in an amused tone, and she smiled widely at him. “On the contrary, I was very nearby,” she told him in a teasing tone, and he groaned, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek.

“I would stay up here all day with you if I could,” he growled against her skin, peppering her cheek with kisses before he pulled back again. “How long will you be in council?” she asked him, and he sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “I have no idea, hopefully not all morning,” he answered her, and she nodded slowly. “Perhaps we could take a walk when you’re finished?” she suggested. “I could try out my new gloves…”

“That sounds wonderful,” he said honestly, “but Sansa and Olyvar are leaving this afternoon, we can’t be absent for that.” Myrcella sighed in response, but a smile soon lit up her face again. “Never mind,” she said, raising her hand up to pat one of his that was still resting on her shoulder. “I will be sad to see Sansa go, do you suppose there is any chance of them coming again before winter?” she asked him hopefully, and he was loath to disappoint her. “I doubt it,” he said regretfully, “the first snow has already fallen, and the next one will likely be harder. They cannot travel in such conditions with such young children.”

“No,” Myrcella agreed with a tiny smile, “no you’re right, we shall just have to pray that the winter will be a short one.” He squeezed her shoulders in response, kissing her cheek once more. “That is all we can do,” he said when he moved away, and she swivelled around on her stool to look at him. “Will I see you at luncheon?” she asked him hopefully. “I would expect so,” he said as he wrapped his cloak about his shoulders, “so long as council does not go on for too long.” She rose to her feet as he fastened his cloak, coming towards him and laying her hands on his chest. “I hope there is nothing serious to attend to,” she said, and he placed his hands on her hips and kissed her slowly in response. “So do I,” he said when he pulled back, nudging his nose playfully against hers for a moment. “Now I really must go, before you ensnare me again,” he grinned at her, and she pressed her lips to his once more.

“See you later,” she said softly when he let go of her and stepped towards the door. “I look forward to it,” he said honestly, seeing her smile widely before he made his way out of their chambers. He could barely keep the smile from his own face as he made his way down the hallways and the stairs, intending to snatch something quickly from the dining hall before he made his way to the council chambers. “Welcome home,” his mother’s voice halted him before he could walk through the doors, and he turned to smile at her. “Thank you, mother,” he said warmly, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. “You seem to be in good cheer,” she said in an amused tone. “There is much to be cheerful about,” he replied, and she smiled knowingly. “I’m sure Myrcella was pleased you came home last night, I think she was starting to worry about you,” she said.

“She is perfectly at ease now,” Robb told her, “we both are.” His mother smiled again at that, coming to his side and taking his arm. “Good,” she said, “you can escort me to breakfast, since you seem to have forgotten your wife.” Robb knew that she wasn’t chastising him as her tone was teasing, but he knew well enough that she was wondering where Myrcella was. “She is still getting ready for the day,” he told his mother, “and I have council to attend to, so I came ahead.” His mother hummed in response to that as they walked the length of the dining hall up to the top table. Robb was vaguely surprised to see that the rest of the family were still there. Seemingly he was not the only one who had risen late this morning. “Morning,” he smiled brightly as he moved to take his place. All but Arya responded in a similar fashion, his younger sister merely muttered her greeting before staring moodily at her breakfast.

Robb caught his mother’s eye, and she just shook her head and rolled her eyes at him. He huffed irritably, guessing that words had been spoken in his absence, he just hoped that none of them had been directed towards Myrcella. Arya dropped her fork down in the next moment, letting it clatter against her half full plate before she stood abruptly from the table and marched her way down off the dais. Their mother opened her mouth, no doubt to call after her, but Robb lay his hand on her arm and shook his head slightly. “What happened while I was away?” he asked quietly, his eyes following Arya’s progress out of the dining hall. “Nothing in particular,” his mother sighed, “she didn’t go near Myrcella if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m worried about all of it,” Robb said irritably, “it cannot keep on like this.” He dropped his half eaten bread roll down on his plate, and glared at it as though it were the cause of all his problems. “Arya just needs a little more time to adjust,” his mother said soothingly, and Robb shot her a look of disbelief. “Everyone else has managed it just fine,” he practically growled, “I have had enough of this. She is a grown woman and it is high time she started acting like it.” With that he pushed away from the table and stood up. “Where are you going?” his mother asked him in an almost fearful manner. “I meant what I said,” he replied, “I have had enough of this. It stops now.”

“Don’t do anything rash,” his mother almost groaned at him as he strode down from the dais and made his way towards the doors. Myrcella made her entrance as he made to leave, her welcoming smile faltering slightly as she no doubt took in his irritable expression. “Has something happened?” she asked him at once, her eyes wide. “Nothing for you to worry about,” he said in response, noticing a few serving girls glancing in their direction from the corner of his eye. “You look tense,” Myrcella said knowingly, and he gently clasped his hands around her upper arms in response. “I’ll be fine,” he soothed her, “I just have some matters to attend to.”

“I thought you were going to council,” she frowned up at him, and he sighed heavily. “I will just have to be late, some things are more important,” he said, to which her frown only deepened. “What -?” she started, but he leant in to kiss her before she could ask any more. The two serving girls had gone from glancing at them to whispering behind their hands, and he did not like it one bit. “Not now,” he whispered against Myrcella’s lips when he pulled away, flickering his eyes towards where the two were gossiping and hoping she understood the gesture. Her own eyes glanced in their direction, and she sighed, nodding her head slightly. “Not now,” she agreed quietly, and he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before he let her go, sidestepping her and striding out into the entrance hall.

He made his way swiftly outside, assuming that Arya would have gone out to the tiltyard. Across the courtyard he went, his mind so distracted with thoughts of what he would say to his stubborn little sister that he wasn’t looking where he was going properly, bumping into someone as he rounded the corner into the alleyway. “I am so sorry,” he apologised at once, steadying the woman he had knocked into, but swiftly releasing her when he saw it was Ada. “In a hurry, your Grace?” she asked him in an amused tone, smoothing her hands down over her belly. His eyes were drawn to it then, seeing between the folds of her cloak that her stomach was rounded. “Congratulations,” he said, blinking stupidly for a moment before he raised his eyes back to hers. “You seem surprised,” she almost laughed, “Thom and I have been married for well over a year.”

“Of course you have,” he shook his head, smiling slightly, “the time has just gone by so quickly that’s all. I haven’t seen you, not really.” She smiled back at him, an almost regretful look in her eyes. “Are you happy?” she asked him quietly, and he swallowed hard, slightly taken aback by her question. “Mostly,” he told her honestly, and she raised her brows. “What’s the problem?” she asked him concernedly, and he sighed. “Arya,” he said irritably, and Ada bit down on her bottom lip as though she were afraid of her next words. “Because of…the queen…?” she asked him tentatively, and he nodded his head. “She will not accept Myrcella, she will not even give her a chance,” he told her in a frustrated manner. “She sounds like someone I used to know,” she said pointedly, and he smiled wryly at her.

“Yes, I know, I was a stubborn fool, but I have admitted to that. Arya…she just won’t,” he practically growled the last words and Ada looked at him in a sympathetic manner. “You’re her brother,” she smiled at him, “doubtless she is worried about you getting hurt, or about you being miserable. Don’t get angry with her, just talk to her and listen to what she has to say to you. Stay calm, and explain your own feelings. I think perhaps you both just need to be honest with one another, then perhaps this tension between her and the queen can start to fade.”

“Thank you, Ada,” Robb said sincerely. He had no doubt that if he hadn’t bumped into her then he and Arya would have likely just ended up shouting at one another. They still might. But at least with this approach he might actually have some hope of getting at least some of his inner feelings through to her. “What are friends for?” Ada smiled back at him, and he took her hand for a moment, squeezing it lightly before he let go. “I wish you every health and happiness,” he told her, looking her dead in the eye. Her smile widened at that, and she inclined her head to him in response. “Thank you, your Grace,” she said happily, before she squeezed his forearm lightly and set off on her way again.

Robb did the same, straightening his doublet before marching down the alleyway to the tiltyard, telling himself over and over to remain calm no matter what Arya threw at him. Arya was savaging a training dummy when he arrived and he sighed heavily, slowly walking towards her and stopping a safe distance behind her before he spoke. “Arya, come and sit with me a moment,” he said firmly, and she stabbed her sword firmly through the dummy where the heart would be and turned to face him. “Why?” she asked him defiantly. “Because you’re my sister, and I want to talk to you,” he said softly, “please Arya, don’t make me order you.”

She glowered in response but nodded her head briskly, to which Robb gestured over to the steps of the armoury. They walked over there, and Robb hesitated a moment before he sat down on the steps, seeing Arya do the same. Though she purposefully sat herself as far away from him as possible. “I hate us being like this,” Robb told her, staring right ahead instead of looking at her. “I know I may have been a little harsh with you about Myrcella,” he conceded when Arya said nothing, “but you were cruel to her Arya, and you have to understand that she is my wife. She is the woman I will spend the rest of my days with, and share children with. Can you understand why I would rather be happy and content with her than despise her for the rest of my days?”

“How can you trust her?” Arya asked him in an almost accusing tone, and he sighed heavily. “I just do, Arya, I can’t explain it,” he said. “Listen, before she came, you know what I was like. I was dreading it, dreading her coming and having to marry her…but that was before. I was unfair, and I judged her on her family rather than on her own merit. She isn’t like them, Arya. I know you think I have had my head turned by her because she’s beautiful, but I thought you knew me better than that. Myrcella is a good person, as much as I wanted to deny that before, I cannot any longer. Please, for me, can you just try and give her a chance?”

“It just reminds me of last time,” Arya said quietly, “of Joffrey.” Her voice hardened when she said his name, and Robb’s fists clenched slightly of his own accord. “What do you mean?” he pressed his sister, hearing her take a long breath. “Joffrey had Sansa fooled,” Arya elaborated, “he was polite and charming, and she fell for all of his false courtesies. Then when he had her where he wanted her he made her life hell. I don’t want the same thing to happen again, for it to happen to you.” Robb shuffled himself closer to where she was sat on hearing that, hesitating a moment before he wrapped his arm about her shoulders. “No one will ever be able to hurt our family like he did ever again,” he promised her, and she leaned into him. “He hurt Myrcella too, Arya, do not think she escaped just because she was his sister,” he said darkly.

“What did he do to her?” Arya asked him quietly, and he squeezed her shoulder tightly. “I haven’t pressed her for details, just as we never did with Sansa,” he replied, “but I know he hurt her. She may not have scars on the outside, but…” he trailed off, not wanting to say anymore. Not even wanting to think about the emotional turmoil his wife had suffered at the hands of her own brother. “We saw right through Joffrey, remember?” he continued instead, and Arya nodded her head. “I could see what he was,” Arya said, “but Sansa wouldn’t. Even after what happened with Mycah and Lady…they would still be alive if it weren’t for him, but she –”

“She thought herself to be in love,” Robb cut her off, “she thought she would wed the handsome prince and live happily ever after. She always dreamt of that, we cannot blame her for chasing that dream. Joffrey charmed her well, and she _wanted_ to believe him. She was young and foolish, we have all been guilty of that in our lives.”

“Do you really think that Myrcella is different?” Arya asked him, and he turned his head to meet her eyes. “I know she is,” he said certainly, “I think I knew she was from the moment I met her, but it took Sansa coming and hearing the story of the doll to make me swallow my pride and get to know her. Judge her on her own merit, Arya, and I promise you that you will not be disappointed.” Arya grimaced slightly, but he could see the hint of acceptance in her eyes. “Does she swordfight?” his sister asked him, and he grinned at her. “I think she is more akin to Sansa than you,” he said teasingly, “but I am sure you can find some common ground, she is actually very funny. I think you might enjoy her company if you gave her a chance.”

“I will, for you,” Arya said after a long moment of quiet, “if it really means that much to you.” Robb smiled at that, and pulled her further against his side, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you,” he said gratefully, “it means a great deal to me. After everything we have all been through I just want a content and happy life with my family, and that includes Myrcella now. She has become more important to me than I thought possible, and I want her to be happy here. I just want all of us to be happy here.”


	17. XV: Snow Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a little late folks, I was expecting to put it up at the weekend but I was away from home, anyway, here it is! 
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments, and to those who left kudos. It is some amazing how much I have, closer to 500 now than 400 which is just awesome. Thank you!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> :)

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

 

He was beautiful when he slept. Innocent. His brow smooth and his features free of any worry or stress. Myrcella smiled slightly as she looked down on him, her fingers itching to run through his auburn curls. She wanted him to wake slowly to her touch and smile up at her. That beautiful smile, that lit up those beautiful eyes. At the same time she wanted him to stay sleeping, so she could explore every angle of his features. To imprint them on her mind forever. She tore her eyes away from him after another minute, flopping back down onto the bed at his side. Two weeks she had been his wife. One week spent apart from him, and the other spent almost entirely in his presence. She knew which one she overwhelmingly preferred. This past week that he had been here had perhaps been the best of her life. Even Arya had started thawing slightly towards her. It wasn’t much, just a few polite words here and there, but it was a start, and it made Myrcella’s heart soar. One week of seemingly unending bliss. She should have known something would come along and spoil it.

An irritable sigh left her as she thought about her mother’s letter. It had arrived the day before, and she had put off reading it until she had retired for the night. After reading it she wished that she had just put it on the fire and had done with it. Parts of the letter still flashed fresh behind her eyes, and even dragging Robb to bed as soon as he had come up to their chambers had not managed to erase the poisonous words. Her mother had, as she had expected, disregarded everything Myrcella had written to her about the wedding and her new husband. She had ignored the fact that Myrcella had told her that she was happy, that Robb had been nothing but gentle and kind to her. _Do not let him fool you, men can be kind when they want something from you. Remember what I said, you must not weaken, you must never show him that you care._

Too late. Myrcella smiled wryly. She had grown to care for Robb even before the wedding, and afterwards it had only grown. He cared for her too. He had _told_ her so, and she believed him, because Robb was honest in a way that she had only ever experience from Tommen before. Tommen. Tommen was far more supportive of her, his letter had told her how happy he was that she was settling in the North. He told her he missed her, but that it was easier to bear now that he knew she wasn’t miserable. Why couldn’t her mother be like that? Why was her mother so intent on Robb being a monster and her suffering at his hands? It was almost as though she wanted it to be true. As though she wanted Myrcella to have an awful life.

 _If he strikes you, do not hide yourself away, show them all what he has done to you._ Myrcella put her hands up to her head and willed the words away. _If the Gods are good then you will soon be with child, then you will hopefully not have to endure him assaulting your body any longer._ Her mother made it sound as though he was forcing her. Myrcella rubbed her hands over her eyes. Her mother could not be more wrong. Even just remembering the vile words made her want to rouse Robb from his sleep and join herself with him entirely. To lose herself in being one with him, to escape her mother’s bitterness just for a little while. She did not _endure_ Robb’s _assault._ She _revelled_ in him bringing her a _pleasure_ that she still had not the words to describe. Her wifely duty in his bed was something that she was more than happy to perform, and something that she was as likely to instigate as he was.

Robb began to stir at her side then, and she turned herself over so that she was facing him, and determined to ignore her mother’s words. From now on she would write to Tommen, and send the occasional correspondence to her mother. She would continue to tell her that she was happy, and pray to the Gods that her words would one day get through to her. Robb groaned slightly, and in the next moment his eyes opened, blinking slowly into the morning sunlight. “Morning,” Myrcella greeted him quietly and he smiled lazily. “Was I dreaming, or did last night really happen?” he asked in groggy amusement, and she smiled widely before biting down on her bottom lip. “It happened,” she confirmed, and he wrapped an arm back around her and pulled her back against his chest. “Good,” he said simply, pressing a firm kiss to the top of her head. Myrcella smiled again at that, clutching herself closer to him, breathing in his scent and caressing him gently.

“Are you alright?” he murmured against her. “Not that I’m complaining about last night,” he continued, stroking his hand through her hair, “but you didn’t seem quite yourself.” Myrcella could have wept with joy at his words. It would have been so easy for him to say nothing, and yet he had noticed something was wrong, even though she had done her best to keep it hidden from him. “A letter from my mother, that’s all,” she told him, and he sighed heavily. “Myrcella -,” he started awkwardly, and she cut across him to put him out of his misery. “You don’t have to,” she said quickly, “I know you don’t want to talk about her, and after what she wrote I don’t think I want to either. Can we just forget it, please?”

“Whatever you like,” he said, though she could tell it was said grudgingly. She pinched her nails slightly into his chest before pressing a kiss above his heart. “I won’t let her ruin this,” she whispered against him, and he pulled her even closer in response. “She can’t,” he said firmly, and she nodded her head, determined to believe him. “I think it may have snowed in the night,” he said after a long minute of quiet, “perhaps we could all spend the day together as a family? Since you have never really had the opportunity before, why don’t we just forget all about being grown up and having responsibilities and just be children for the day?” Myrcella knew that he was trying to cheer her up with his suggestion, and she was thankful beyond words to him. “I’d like that,” she told him honestly, “I’d like that a lot.”

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t want to join in, mother?” Robb asked in a teasing tone as he and Rickon piled snow up to create a curved wall. “I’m sure,” Lady Stark said drily, though Myrcella was sure she could see the amusement in her eyes. “I think Bran and I will officiate, make sure none of you get out of hand,” she continued pointedly and Robb laughed at her. Myrcella smiled when she heard it, he sounded so carefree and young. Perhaps he truly had forgotten the weight of his responsibilities for the afternoon. “What are the rules exactly?” Myrcella asked, glancing at Arya who was building a wall of her own opposite Robb and Rickon’s. “There are no rules,” Robb told her with a grin, and she raised a brow. “You will just end up pelted with snow, freezing cold and soaked the bone,” Lady Stark elaborated.

“Mother, you make it sound like no fun at all,” Arya said with a roll of her eyes. “Here, you can be on my side. Boys against girls, what do you say?” she continued, and Myrcella nodded her agreement, thrilled that Arya had suggested it. “Best we show them what we’re made of,” Myrcella quipped, moving towards where she was and seeing her grin widely in response. Myrcella dropped down in the snow next to her, and began adding height to the opposite end of the wall. “That’s it,” Arya nodded her approval, “make sure you get it nice and thick. Pack it as much as possible or it will just crumble down.” Myrcella did as she was directed, even though the snow soon soaked through the new gloves Robb had bought her. She could feel the cold on her skin, but she was unwilling to let any of them down by complaining about it. It wasn’t unbearable, and she soon grew used to the feeling.

“You seem to have a knack for that,” Arya said after several minutes, and Myrcella smiled. “Here,” she continued, “do you want me to show you how to make a snowball?” As she said it she was already scooping snow into her hands and sculpting it into a round shape. “This is our weaponry?” Myrcella asked with a raised brow, and Arya grinned at her. “Too right,” she confirmed, placing the finished snowball between them before she started on the next one. “Five minutes until battle commences!” Bran hollered out from where he was perched on a chair, swathed in furs. Lady Stark stood behind the chair with a protective hand laying on the back of it, the sight making Myrcella smile slightly. “C’mon!” Arya snapped her back to the task at hand. “Robb makes these things ridiculously quickly.”

“We’ll see about that,” Myrcella returned, squashing a handful of snow into a round shape and depositing it in the small pile before instantly scooping up more. Arya look faintly impressed as she quickly added another three to the pile. “You keep making those,” Arya advised her, “and I will add a little more to the wall.” Myrcella nodded her agreement, making the snowballs as quickly as she could. Soon a nice little pile was building up, and she increased her pace even more as Bran called out that they only had one minute left to prepare themselves. Arya dived back down behind the wall in the next moment. “Ready for battle?” she grinned, and Myrcella smiled back. “As I will ever be,” Myrcella said, following Arya’s lead and tugging up the hood of her cloak, as well as pulling her scarf up over the bottom half of her face. “They can sting if they catch you in the face,” Arya warned her, and she grimaced.

“Three!” Bran shouted out. “Two! One! Fight!!” At once Arya snatched up a snowball and launched it over the wall towards Robb and Rickon’s own fort. Myrcella picked up one of her own and raised herself up so she could see, only to duck back down in an instant as a snowball hurtled towards her. It landed just behind them and Arya scrabbled for it at once, squeezing it back into shape and adding it to their own pile. “Waste not, want not,” Arya said, as Myrcella flung her own towards the wall that Robb and Rickon were ducking behind. It sailed over, and Myrcella could have sworn she heard a slight yelp. “I think you got Rickon,” Arya cackled, “nice shot.”

“Thank you,” Myrcella beamed, picking up another ball of snow and tossing it towards the boys. This time she didn’t think she had been lucky enough to hit a target. Arya threw another then, and then they were ducking back down again to avoid a pelt of them coming from the opposite fort. “What is the aim of the game exactly?” Myrcella asked Arya as they cowered behind their own wall and waited for the assault to stop. “To destroy the other team’s fort,” Arya told her, and Myrcella nodded. “And how do we do that?” she asked.

“Hope they built it weakly so we can knock it down with the snowballs, if not, we have to kick it down,” Arya told her, and Myrcella giggled. “I think they’ve run out,” she said, picking up a snowball and moving to rise up. Arya grabbed her and pulled her back down at once. “Don’t be so sure,” Arya said, “Robb likes to lull people into a false sense of security and they get them right in the face.” Myrcella’s eyes widened at that, and Arya cackled. “Don’t think he’ll be soft on you because you’re his wife. Robb shows no mercy when it comes to snow fights,” she continued, and Myrcella couldn’t help but join in with her laughter. Slowly they both raised their heads up above the parapet, and a snowball came hurtling towards them at once, missing Myrcella’s head by a whisper. “Told you,” Arya said breathlessly as they ducked back down again.

“Should we aim for the fort?” Myrcella asked her, and Arya nodded her head. Again they rose up, Arya expertly dodging another snowball that came their way. “Go,” Arya said, and they both launched as many snowballs as they could towards the boys’ fort. A tiny little piece seemed to crumble from one edge but other than that it remained intact. “Damn it,” Arya cursed as they ducked back down to make more snowballs. “What now?” Myrcella asked her, and Arya bit down on her lip. “Now we need to entice them out,” Arya said, “then you can run out and knock their fort down.”

“Why me?” Myrcella asked her, shaping yet more snow. “Because they won’t be expecting you, they will be expecting me,” Arya told her with a sly grin, and Myrcella nodded her head determinedly. “I’ll do it,” she said, and Arya nodded once, before she raised her head above the parapet. “Scared to come out, boys?!” she called out in a crowing manner, and Myrcella put her hand up to her mouth to stifle her giggles. “We are just two defenceless ladies and you are too afraid to take down our fort!” Arya continued mockingly, and Myrcella crawled passed her so she could peek round the side of the fort. “It’s working,” she told Arya quietly, to which she rose up higher behind the walls and waved her hands in the air. “Come and get us!” she taunted, and a snowball flew out from behind the boys’ fort.

“They’ll come now,” Arya said certainly, “they will take cover behind those bushes over there,” she nodded her head where she meant. “That’s why they insisted on taking that side. I will make a lot of noise and throw a lot of snow at them. You just need to sneak into the undergrowth while they are moving to the bushes. Once I have them distracted you can move through it and then just go for it. Kick as much of it down as you can, then victory is ours.”

“Alright,” Myrcella said, eyeing up the undergrowth, “tell me when to go.” Arya confirmed that she would, and Myrcella readied herself to dart into the undergrowth nearby, hoping that neither Robb nor Rickon would spot her. “Now,” Arya hissed in the next moment, and Myrcella crawled as fast as she could towards the undergrowth as Arya spouted off a tirade of taunts and insults to keep the attention on her and mask any sound. Myrcella hid herself behind a bush that still had most of its leaves, seeing Robb and Rickon in the bushes opposite, furiously making up a pile of snowballs. Slowly she moved herself through the vegetation towards their fort. Thankfully Arya continued making a lot of noise, throwing several snowballs towards them as they continued heaping more onto their pile. Myrcella took a deep breath when she came to a halt in the undergrowth directly opposite their fort. She was ten feet away at most, and Robb and Rickon had retreated at least thirty from their base.

If she was quick she could have a damn good go at kicking it down. She glanced over to them, seeing them beginning to pelt Arya with snowballs. Slowly Myrcella inched forwards until she was at the edge of the undergrowth, preparing to dart out towards their fort. “Hang on,” she heard Robb say as he launched yet another snowball, “where’s Myrcella?” On hearing that she knew it was now or never, darting out of her hiding place and launching herself towards their snow fort. She got two good kicks in before Rickon shouted out his warning to Robb. There would only be seconds now before they moved to stop her, and she furiously kicked as much as she could down. Arms came about her waist in the next moment, and she shrieked, her feet slipping on the snow covered ground.

It was enough to topple both her and Robb, but somehow he managed to twist his body so that he fell first, cushioning her own fall with himself. He crashed right through the remains of his and Rickon’s fort, landing on his back with a groan as Myrcella collapsed on top of him. She couldn’t help but laugh, pushing herself up against his chest so she was sat astride him before she raised both her arms up in triumph. Arya was crowing in victory behind her, and Robb sighed heavily in defeat before he grabbed a handful of snow and brought it up to tip over her head. Myrcella gasped as the coldness trickled down her back, grabbing a fistful of snow in each hand and crushing it against either side of his head. “Alright!” Robb raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, you win!”

“Did you hear that, Arya?! He conceded!” Myrcella called over her shoulder, and Arya practically bounded towards them. “By the Gods, how did you ever win the North with those appalling tactics?!” she crowed triumphantly when she reached them, and Robb rolled his eyes at her. “How was I to know you would use my own wife against me?” Robb replied grumpily, and Myrcella tried to bite back a smile. “What do we win?” Myrcella asked, glancing between the Stark siblings expectantly. “A hot bath,” Lady Stark said in an amused tone, “and if you’re lucky I will have them sort you out some warm, spiced milk.”

“Lovely,” Myrcella said happily, struggling ungracefully back up to her feet. “Thank you,” she said gratefully to Arya as she steadied her to keep her from slipping over again. “Is no one going to give me a hand?” Robb asked exasperatedly, to which Myrcella and Arya both held out their hands. “We’d best help the old man up,” Arya grinned, and Robb scowled at her, grabbing onto both of their hands and hauling himself back to his feet with their aid. “Thank you,” he said, shooting an irritable look to his little sister, who merely poked her tongue out at him in response. “I have been waiting years for this moment,” Arya said, clapping her hands together. “Don’t get used to it,” Robb warned her, wrapping his arm around Myrcella’s shoulders. “I think the teams will have to be mixed up next time.”

“So you admit you can’t win without a girl?” Arya asked, to which Myrcella put her hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles. Robb huffed in response, and Myrcella calmed herself, snaking her arm about his waist and poking him lightly. “Perhaps he has been humiliated enough,” Myrcella said, “I don’t know about everyone else, but I have snow melting down my back and I would quite like some of that warm milk.”

“A good idea,” Lady Stark spoke up before either Robb or Arya could continue goading one another. “Some warm milk while the poor serving girls get on with warming enough water for baths for all of you,” she continued irritably, swatting at Rickon as he tried to sneak a pinch of snow down her back. “Enough, you!” she scolded him, and Rickon danced out of her reach. “Come on, let’s get Bran in,” Robb released Myrcella, and clapped his hand on Arya’s back instead, steering her towards their brother. Rickon bounded towards them too, and Myrcella watched as Arya and Rickon took hold of either side of the front of the chair while Robb went to the back. On three they lifted him between them and made their way up the path towards the gate. Myrcella walked on behind them, smiling slightly as she heard the four of them exclaiming away happily about the snow battle.

She knew well enough that Bran would likely have wanted to join in with them, but he appeared in good cheer as Robb chastised him teasingly for not telling him that Myrcella had moved to hide in the undergrowth. Lady Stark had darted on ahead to open the gate, and they passed through it slowly, mindful of not slipping on the snow. A path had been cleared in the courtyard, and their pace increased slightly as they made their way to the cleared steps of the keep. Up the steps they went, placing Bran down carefully in the entrance hall as the guards closed the doors behind them again. Robb moved to grab Bran’s wheeled chair, setting it down next to him before Arya and Rickon shifted him over into it. “Was this from the parlour?” Robb asked his mother, indicating the chair they had taken outside. “Yes,” she confirmed, “you can take it back there now and wait for your milk.”

They obliged her, making their way down the hallway to the parlour, Rickon bounding ahead to open the door to let Bran wheel himself in first. The rest filed in after him, with Myrcella entering last and closing the door behind her. She had never been so grateful for the roaring fire that was dancing in the grate, unable to stop herself from exhaling in relief. Robb turned to her when he had replaced the chair at the small table in the corner, sending her a smile which she returned easily. He wandered towards her in the next moment, his hands coming to the fastening of her cloak. “You’re not too cold, are you?” he asked her, and she shook her head. “Nothing that a bath and that warm milk your mother has promised us won’t fix,” she assured him, and his smile widened as he swept her damp cloak off her shoulders.

“Settle yourself down,” he urged her, laying the cloak over the back of one of the chairs where everyone else seemed to have deposited theirs. He made to remove his own then as Myrcella moved to settle herself on the sofa, pulling her dripping gloves from her hands as she did so. The numbness in her hands was beginning to fade now, and the sudden warmth surrounding her was making them sting. Robb settled next to her in a moment, reaching out for one of her hands and rubbing it between his own. “Getting them warmed up again can be the worst part,” he said knowingly, “but you’ll be fine in a little while.”

“No doubt,” she agreed with him, smiling widely when he placed a kiss to the back of her hand. “Ugh,” Arya commented, rolling her eyes. Robb merely hushed her, and Myrcella smiled, glad that Arya was being more herself around her now, instead of being overly polite and guarded. “Can we play another game later?” Rickon asked, looking hopefully towards his older brother. “Perhaps,” Robb said, “but not out in the snow, it will be going dark soon enough. Perhaps I can see about us dining as a family instead of in the hall, and afterwards we can play a few rounds of cards.”

“That sounds good to me,” Bran said, and Myrcella smiled, imagining that he would be glad of a game that he could join in with. “Well it would, wouldn’t it? Seeing as you always win,” Arya said irritably, and Bran smirked at her. Robb rolled his eyes as they all started bickering, shifting himself closer to Myrcella and wrapping his arm about her shoulder so she could nestle into the crook of his shoulder. “Feeling better?” he murmured, so that only she could hear him, and she nodded. “Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Tommen would have enjoyed today,” Myrcella said slightly regretfully, and Robb sighed. “When spring comes you will see him again,” he said after a long moment, and she raised her head so she could meet his eyes. “What do you mean?” she asked him.

“Well, now that we’re wed I imagine there will be a big show of unity at the Capitol. It is hardly something I am looking forward to, but knowing you will be happy on seeing your brother again will make it all the more bearable,” he told her softly, and she couldn’t help but lean in and press her lips to his for a moment. “Thank you,” she whispered against the softness of them when she pulled back. He merely smiled in response, before pressing a tiny kiss to the tip of her nose. “Must you two be quite so sickening?” Arya asked in a disgusted manner, and Robb turned to narrow his eyes at her as the door to the parlour opened again. “Mind your own business, or I might suddenly remember that you are still unmarried,” Robb said warningly.

“It is hard to mind my own business when you are being all…ugh…with one another right opposite me. Gods, you are almost as bad as Sansa and Olyvar,” Arya seemed to shudder at that, and Myrcella couldn’t help but laugh, seeing Lady Stark shaking her head as she directed a serving girl to place the tray of warm spiced milk on the low table between them. “Honestly, I leave you all alone for ten minutes,” Lady Stark said exasperatedly, moving to take a seat between Bran and Rickon. “I think we should have a private dinner tonight, mother,” Robb said as though he had not heard her. “And what is that in honour of?” his mother asked in response. “Do I need an excuse?” Robb raised a brow. “I just thought it would be nice, and afterwards we can indulge in a few games of cards before bed.”

“And a bit of truth or tale,” Bran said with a grin, and Myrcella saw Robb roll his eyes. “What is truth or tale?” she asked Bran curiously as Robb extracted his arm from around her to lean forwards and pick up two cups of warm milk. “Robb tells us something that could likely have been from the war, and we have to guess if it happened, or if he is making up tales,” Bran explained to her, and she nodded her head, accepting her milk with thanks. “But then you would have to rely on Robb being honest with the answers,” she said slyly, glancing towards her husband, who grinned at her. “True, we have to rely on him remembering his Stark honour,” Bran agreed, and she smiled widely before taking a sip from her milk.

“This is wonderful, Lady Stark, thank you,” she directed towards her good-mother. “It is no matter,” Lady Stark smiled kindly, “hot water has been called for as well, so don’t tarry too long before you go on up for a bath.” Myrcella thanked her again at that, before sipping on her milk again, feeling it warm her insides deliciously. Robb shifted closer again as she sipped it down, his lips coming to press against her temple before moving to her ear. “Drink up quick, wife,” he whispered, his warm breath making her shudder slightly, “we don’t want our bath getting cold without us.”

 


	18. XVI: Night Calling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks so much as always for the kudos, and to those of you who left comments. It is much appreciated, I can't thank you enough.
> 
> Right, are you ready to find out how Robb slayed the dragon?!
> 
> :)

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

_The scent of burning flesh filled his nostrils as he screamed for his men to get back. For the archers to regroup and aim up at the dragons again. One had already fallen to what seemed like a thousand arrows, its scaled body lay sprawled out on the battlefield, along with thousands of men from both sides. The Targaryen had brought an army of Unsullied with her, and while he and his men, along with the southern forces, were more than a match for them, she had also brought with her three dragons. They were not quite as huge as had been feared, but they were big enough to even the fight. Robb choked a little on the vile stench that was hanging in the air, tightening his grip on his sword as the two remaining dragons swooped down once more. A volley of arrows shot towards the pair of them, and their screams echoed horribly through the dusk._

_“Notch again!” Robb bellowed, cutting down an Unsullied who staggered towards him brandishing a lance. The man had clearly been wounded, and it wasn’t entirely an even match, but Robb considered it more of a mercy to end his life. Likely he would have died in agony otherwise. “Fire!” he screamed at his archers, hearing the call echoed through the various garrisons. Thousands more arrows flew up into the air, and the green dragon seemed to bear the brunt of it, snarling and snapping and hissing as it flew limply towards the ground. “Easy!” Robb cautioned, as several men looked as though they were about to charge at the thing. He could see men advancing from all sides, and the dragon sent out a stream of flames that he could feel the heat from where he stood over two hundred feet away. Screams of agony accompanied the inferno, and a third volley of arrows was sent towards the wounded animal._

_This time he knew it would be fatal, the dragon’s head sagging to the ground and a dozen or so lances being thrown at the beast’s neck. The one remaining dragon screamed in what Robb could only describe as fury as its brother lay defeated on the battlefield. “Concentrate all your fire on that one, we need to bring it down!” Robb heard the command shouted from somewhere nearby, and he could not disagree with it. There were men still engaging with the Unsullied, keeping the horde back from the garrisons of archers who were aiming for the skies once more. “Your Grace!” the warning was too late, the ground shaking and almost throwing him off balance as he whirled around. The final dragon had landed mere feet behind him, its eyes wild and jaws snarling. It was not the sight of the beast that took Robb aback though, it was the sight of the woman sat on its back._

_Almost as though in slow motion she screamed out something in a language Robb could not understand, and he had less than a second to throw himself to the ground. The flames shot out so close to him that he could feel himself growing unbearably hot in his armour. For a moment he thought of the grandfather he had never known, the knowledge of how he had died making him want to retch. Thankfully the flames ceased, and Robb forced himself to push up from the ground, readjusting his grip on his sword. Men were advancing on all sides of the dragon, archers and swordsmen alike, but Robb was the closest to it, and he could see where to ram the sword. The underside of the dragon’s jaw. Simple if it weren’t so damn foolish. Before he could think he went for it, as a hundred or so arrows flew into the opposite side of the beast._

_The dragon screamed, and lashed out so quickly that Robb didn’t have a moment to react. Pain ripped through his left shoulder and his screams mingled with that of the dragon. Snarls reached his ears next and he knew it were Grey Wind. He could hear his men screaming at him to fall back, but the blood was pounding in his ears as he somehow pushed himself up from the ground. The blood was hot and sticky running down his arm, but he still had his sword, and one precise hit could end this without any more of his men being burned alive. Grey Wind moved himself around, snarling and snapping at the dragon’s feet, driving the beast wild as it couldn’t move quickly enough to snap its jaws around him. Robb staggered forward, gripping his sword more tightly in his hand. He was almost afraid to look when he got closer, but somehow he managed to get himself into position._

_A second later he thrust his sword upwards with all the strength he had left, feeling the blood from the dragon come pouring down over him. He gasped, his nostrils full of the metallic scent, as the great animal reared up on its hind legs, its wings flapping feebly for a moment before it collapsed down dead with a mighty crash. Robb gasped air into his lungs, feeling hands finding him, mouths uttering questions that he could not quite decipher. “The rider,” he managed, “the woman. Where is the woman? The Targaryen?” Voices answered him but he could not comprehend them, moving forward with insistent hands supporting him. Vaguely he heard the calls for the Maester, but he shrugged away those who tried to insist on leading him away from the battlefield. He had to know what had become of the woman._

_Eventually they stopped trying to persuade him to leave, merely supporting him as he sought her out. Around the body of the great, black dragon they went, seeing the ground littered with countless bodies as they moved. Robb looked out for any hint of silvery blonde, finally finding what he was looking for. He increased his pace, those supporting him cautioning him against punishing himself further. He ignored them, moving to the woman’s side. She was lying face down on the ground, and Robb somehow managed to find the words to tell them to roll her over. There didn’t appear to be a mark on her as they moved to do his bidding. No arrow. No sword wound. Likely the fall had killed her. He nodded to his men, and they turned her over in one swift move –_

Robb woke with a strangled cry, his chest drenched with sweat as he gasped air into his lungs. “Myrcella?!” he turned over in the bed, expecting to see her sleeping peacefully at his side. The other side of the bed was empty though, and he pushed himself up, breathing hard. “Myrcella?!” he repeated in a panic. Where was she? He tried to calm his breathing, telling himself it was just a dream. Just a dream. He ran his hand through his damp curls and tried to think straight. He had not dreamt about that day for so long. Not in so much detail, and never with that ending. That wasn’t how it ended. It ended with him finding unseeing violet eyes, not green ones. Not Myrcella’s. “Myrcella?!” he almost choked on his wife’s name as he remembered her still and unmoving in his dream. _It wasn’t Myrcella, it was Daenerys. It was the Targaryen. Myrcella is safe, nothing can hurt her._

If that were true then where in the name of the Gods was she? Why was she not curled up in bed with him? His hands went to scrabble frantically under the blankets, feeling her side of the bed almost cold. In the next moment he was throwing the blankets and furs off himself and snatching up his robe. He went to the washroom first, knocking lightly on the door and calling her name softly. When he got no answer he pushed open the door to see it empty. Again he ran his hand through his hair, backing away from the washroom and turning to scan their bedchamber. She was not here. If she were then she would have answered him when he had called her name. Where was she? Gods. Oh Gods. He took deep, calming breaths, reminding himself yet again that it had only been a dream.

He was making for the door of their chambers before he could think on it anymore, almost running down the hallways, listening and looking out for any sign of his wife. Where would she go? He could not understand where she would go in the middle of the night. Vaguely he wondered if she would go down to the Sept, and he halted, trying to imagine if that was something she would do. She would often visit the Sept when he was in council, but she was not a particularly devout woman. He bit down on his lip, slowing his pace as he tried to decide whether or not he should go all the way down there and check. Before he could make up his mind though he heard her soft tones and whirled around. Rickon’s chamber door stood slightly ajar, and he approached it, certain he could hear Myrcella’s voice coming from within.

“…everyone gets bad dreams, Rickon,” she was soothing his brother, “that does not mean you are weak or foolish.” Rickon snuffled something in return that Robb could not quite make out, and he heard Myrcella hushing and soothing him again in response. “There is nothing to be ashamed of,” she assured Rickon, and Robb moved himself slightly so he could peer through the gap in the door. She was sat at Rickon’s bedside, smoothing her hand through his hair as she hushed him. He could plainly tell that his little brother had been crying, and it made his heart clench uncomfortably. “Would you like me to sing to you?” Myrcella asked, and Rickon nodded his head in response. “Very well,” she continued stroking her hand through his hair for a moment before she began to sing softly.

It was a lullaby of a sort, a southern one, Robb imagined, as he had never heard it here in the North before. He had never heard anything like her sweet voice in all his life. Many a singer had entertained in the dining hall, but none had ever sounded as heavenly as she did. He backed away from the door, leaning against the wall before he slowly sank down to the floor outside Rickon’s chamber. Listening to her beautiful voice calmed his still racing heart, chasing all lingering thoughts of that dream away from him. He leant his head back against the wall and exhaled in satisfaction as he listened to her. He didn’t know how long he was sat there, allowing her voice to wash over him, but eventually she came to the end of her song. In the next moment he heard a slight shuffling from inside Rickon’s chamber, and he rose back up to his feet as the door opened just wide enough for Myrcella to slip out.

She gasped on seeing him, her hand coming to her heart as she took in several deep breaths, her eyes wide as she looked up at him. He moved closer, pulling Rickon’s door closed quietly before he gathered her up in his arms. “What are you doing out here?” she asked him weakly, clinging as tightly to him as he was to her. “I woke up and you were gone,” he said, “I didn’t know where you were…I had to find you.” He pressed fierce kisses to the top of her head as she seemed to clutch him even closer. “I wasn’t far,” she soothed him, “I was a little restless, and then I heard Rickon crying out. I couldn’t just leave him, Robb, he sounded so upset.”

“You don’t have to explain,” he soothed her, finally relinquishing the tight hold he had on her. She stepped back slightly and looked up to meet his eyes, a frown creasing her brow slightly as she moved her hand up to cup his cheek. “You’re pale,” she said worriedly, her hand moving from his cheek up to his forehead, her frown only deepening as she did so. “And clammy,” she continued, “do you feel well?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her, though she did not look completely at ease with his answer. “Rickon is not the only one who gets bad dreams,” he elaborated, and a look of understanding crossed her features. “What was it?” she asked him softly, and he shook his head. “Just the war,” he said dismissively, “nothing I have not dreamt before. I just panicked when I saw you were gone, that’s all.” She pressed herself back against him at his words, and he held her tightly, breathing in the scent of her and savouring the way she felt under his touch. Warm. Real. Alive. He breathed a sigh of relief against the top of her head before pressing a kiss into her hair. “Come on,” he murmured, “let us go back to bed before we freeze.”

She stepped away at his suggestion, lacing her fingers through his as they made their way back to their chambers. Once inside he regretfully let go of her hand so she could move round to her side of the bed. He went towards the fire, tossing several logs on top of the dying embers. With luck the fire would live until the morning, and it would be one less thing for the serving girls to worry about. He stared into the slowly rising flames for a long moment before he turned away and made his way back to bed, shedding his robe as he went. Myrcella snuggled up against him as soon as he shifted beneath the furs, and he held her close, stroking his hand through her hair. “Myrcella?” he asked softly, and she hummed in response. “Would you sing to me?” he asked her nervously, and she turned her head to press a kiss above his heart. “Of course I will, if you want me to,” she told him, and he pressed a kiss of his own to her forehead. “Please,” he confirmed, “I think it might help me dream of something good.”

* * *

They were ambling round the gardens the next afternoon, and Robb could still not tear his mind entirely from his dream. Whenever his concentration lapsed he would see it, he would see Myrcella laying there still and unmoving, her eyes glassy as she stared unseeing up at the skies. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself that it was the Targaryen, the image of his wife had replaced her and it made him feel sick. “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” Myrcella asked him, her hand clenching a little more tightly around his arm as they walked. He sighed in response, not knowing whether or not he should tell her. Whether she would think him foolish or not. “It’s not me, is it?” she pressed him, her tone almost fearful. “No, of course not,” he soothed her, “it’s just that…just that stupid dream playing on my mind, that’s all.”

“What was it?” she asked him tentatively, and he closed his eyes almost despairingly for a moment. “The dragons,” he told her, “I suppose it was more memory than dream, until the end at least.” His tone was dark towards the end, and Myrcella squeezed his arm reassuringly in response. “What happened at the end?” she asked quietly, and he sighed. “When I found Daenerys Targaryen’s body she was lying face down on the battlefield,” he told her, pausing to take a breath, “only in the dream, when I asked my men to turn her over…well, when they turned her onto her back I didn’t see her eyes, I -,” he swallowed hard, “I saw yours.”

“I was dead? In her place?” Myrcella asked him softly, and he nodded his head. “It was just a dream,” she said at once, “what would I ever be doing out on a battlefield?” she tried to sound teasing, but her voice was laced with more than a little apprehension. “I shouldn’t have told you,” Robb said at once, and she shook her head in response. “No,” she protested, “no, I am glad you told me. I want us to be able to share everything with one another, in the end.”

Robb halted his steps then, Myrcella stopping beside him and looking up at him curiously. He turned to face her, placing his hands on her shoulders and gazing into her bright, living eyes for a long moment. “I didn’t know what losing you would do to me before,” he told her quietly, “but I have some idea now, and I can’t, Myrcella. I can’t lose you, not now.” Her eyes shone with tears at his words, her gloved hands coming up to caress his as her lower lip trembled slightly. “I was afraid of you caring, deep down,” she told him, and he frowned. “Why?” he asked simply, and she smiled wryly. “I will give you three guesses,” she arched one brow, and he sighed heavily. “Your mother,” he spoke the two words like a curse, and she nodded her confirmation.

“She told me not to show you weakness,” Myrcella told him, the first time she had truly opened up about her mother. “And to her that means caring?” Robb asked, frowning deeply. Again Myrcella nodded, and he felt even more anger towards Cersei Lannister. “I knew she was wrong even before the wedding,” Myrcella explained, “I knew I cared for you, and I hoped you cared for me but...”

“But?” Robb urged her when she showed no sign of continuing with her explanation. “But it is hard to ignore words from your own mother,” she said, “when you have never been free to do anything for yourself. I had no choice but to look to her, she had been in my position – marrying a stranger for advantage. Because that is all this is to my grandfather, making me queen means he does not lose all hold on the North and the Riverlands. But you,” she slipped her hand away from his and moved it to his cheek, “you turned out to be nothing like she prepared me for, and I thank the Gods for it.”

“And you don’t doubt me?” he asked her, not caring if he sounded needy. He had to know. “No,” she shook her head, “I never really did, she just…my mother, she…she knows just how to needle her way inside your head. For a time I let her, but I won’t anymore, Robb, I promise.” That was all he needed to hear, and he pulled her into an embrace in response, kissing the top of her head fiercely. “You deserved better than life at the Capitol,” he told her lowly, and she pressed herself closer to him for a moment before she pulled her head back so she could look up onto his eyes. “I have better,” she said firmly, “I’m here.”

He couldn’t help but kiss her on hearing those words, savouring her soft lips on his as they worked slowly together. When he could barely suppress his desire for her any longer he pulled back, meeting her eyes once more. “Did you write back to her the other day?” he asked her, and she shook her head. “I ought to, I know that, especially since I replied to Tommen at once, but I just don’t know what to say to her,” she said exasperatedly. “She is so convinced that you must be awful to me, and that any caring you are showing is merely you playing a game with me so you can hurt me more in the future. Gods,” she clenched her fists against his chest in anger, and he stayed silent, sensing that she hadn’t finished. “She assumes to know all about our marriage, she assumes that I suffer at your hands,” she continued, “and I swear she wants it to be true, she wants you to be a monster. Why would she want that? What kind of mother wants their child to suffer?”

“I don’t know the answer to that,” Robb told her honestly. It was the truth. He had no idea, because he was lucky, he had grown up with a mother who adored him and a father who doted on him. Not once had they ever made him feel anything but safe and loved. He could not imagine what it was like to grow up with an absent father and a mother that he could only describe as neglectful at best, and cruel at worst. Myrcella smiled slightly wryly, shaking her head before she lay her head against his chest. He smoothed his hands through her hair and hoped that the action was calming to her. Somehow he sensed that she had let out more than she had meant to when talking about her mother, but he was pleased that she had opened up to him. He had been curious for a long time about what exactly she had had to live with at the Capitol, and he wondered whether he ought to push her any further or just leave it be. She was happy here. He had heard that from her own mouth. Did he really want to drag up all her horrible memories to satisfy his own morbid curiosity?

“Was she always like that?” he asked before he could stop himself, and she sighed heavily. “When Joffrey was still alive she wasn’t as bitter,” Myrcella told him, “he was her golden prince and she doted on him. Tommen and I were just after thoughts, she left us to our nurses for the most part. Sometimes she would be smiling and happy, and we would cling to that, it made us feel like she loved us as much as she loved Joff.”

“And then he died,” Robb prompted her, and she nodded her head against his chest. “She was wild with grief,” she elaborated, “half the time she was drunk, and the rest of the time she was arguing with grandfather. He was so afraid of what she might do that he sent Sansa into my Uncle Tyrion’s protection when he went out to treat with you. After the pact was made it was like I ceased to exist to her, she poured everything into Tommen. Well, she did when she wasn’t drunk. I thank the Gods he did not let her fawning and indulgence spoil him the way it spoiled Joffrey. Grandfather attempted to send her back to the Rock after the war beyond the Wall, but she refused to leave. I don’t think she will ever leave Tommen, not after Joff.”

“As I said, you deserved better,” Robb murmured against the top of her head, pressing more kisses to her hair. “Don’t go pitying me,” Myrcella pulled back, a slight smile on her face. “I knew no better,” she almost laughed, “it wasn’t until I came here and saw the way your family is that I realised that mine wasn’t… _normal._ ” He couldn’t help but laugh himself at that, tucking a lock of her hair back behind her ear. “If you think my family is normal then the Gods help you,” he said, to which her giggles only intensified. He was glad to hear her laugh, to see the carefree expression on her face as her eyes lit up. It sounded as though she had never been allowed to be a child the way he and his siblings had, and so he quietly determined that she could be as free as he could allow her to be, now that she was under his protection.

“Come on,” he regretfully pulled away from their embrace and wrapped his arm about her shoulder. “Let’s get you back to the keep, I distinctly remember you promising to help Rickon with his sums this afternoon.” Myrcella merely groaned at that, slipping her arm around his waist as they trudged their way through the snow towards the garden gate. Through it they went, reaching the bottom of the keep steps before Robb was hailed from the other side of the courtyard by Ser Rodrik. “You go on ahead,” he urged Myrcella, “I will join you in the library in a moment.” She agreed readily, and he pressed his lips to hers for a moment, before turning his attention to Ser Rodrik as she climbed the steps. Robb made his way to meet him in the middle of the courtyard, suppressing a groan as he saw the grim look on his face.

“What is it?” he asked in a resigned manner. “Word from the Wall, your Grace,” Ser Rodrik told him, “seems there has been a deserter.” Robb sighed heavily at that, knowing it would mean him riding out. He kept to the rules his father had always taught him, though at times like this he wished he had someone else to deal his justice for him. “Where?” Robb asked him, running his hand through his hair. “Picked up by some of Lord Umber’s men near the Long Lake. They are keeping him there at the village at the northern end. They have informed the Watch as well, I believe the Lord Commander will come down to meet you,” Ser Rodrik told him, and Robb smiled slightly. At least there was some good news. He may have to reluctantly leave his wife and home again, but at least he would get to see his brother again before winter came.


	19. XVII: Lady of Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, new chapter for you all, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you so much to those who left comments, and to you lovelies who left enough kudos to get me to 500, thank you so, so much!
> 
> :)

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

 

He was leaving again. He was mere minutes away from walking out of the door and leaving again. For longer this time, no doubt. He was insistent on no one coming out and waving him off, instead he was saying his farewells inside the keep. Most had been made now, he had embraced Bran and Rickon and shared a few japes with them. He had ruffled Arya’s hair and insisted she behave herself in his absence and not spend all her time in the tiltyard. Then he had embraced her too and moved to his mother. They were speaking in hushed tones near the door, and try as she might Myrcella could not make out what they were talking about. She swallowed hard, her stomach clenched unpleasantly as Robb finally stopped speaking to his mother and embraced her tightly for a moment. There was only her left now, and she was dreading this goodbye. The first time had been bad enough, but at least it had been away from prying eyes. She took a deep breath as he turned to look at her, seeing regret shining in the impossible blue of his eyes.

It would do no good to let her inner misery show on her face. No doubt that would only make him feel even guiltier for leaving her again. She had lost count of the number of times he had apologised to her the day and night before. It seemed as though he had whispered it against every inch of her skin as they had enjoyed one another one last time before dawn broke. Myrcella wrapped her arms around his waist as he came before her, his own clutching her close to his chest as she breathed him in. If she had her way she would never let go. If she had her way someone else would be riding out to Long Lake and dealing with the deserter from the Wall. It would have been pointless to argue against his leaving though. He would go, just as he had gone to Torrhen’s Square, and she did not want them to part having exchanged ill words. Instead she had told him she would miss him, but that she understood that he had a duty to perform. He had seemed relieved at her words. That alone was enough to keep her biting her tongue.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and she closed her eyes tight, imprinting the feel of him on her mind. The memory would have to be enough to sustain her in his absence. She was already imagining the empty space beside her, the cold sheets in the place of his solid, warm body. Gods. She missed him already despite him still being here. When he pulled back slightly she had to resist the urge to press herself flush against him again. Instead she raised her head, meeting his eyes and forcing a smile to her face. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he murmured to her, and she nodded. “I will count the days,” she told him honestly, and a smile twitched the corners of his mouth. “I am sure you will find plenty to do in my absence, just promise me you’ll stay safe and warm,” he implored her, and again she nodded. “I will gladly promise you, if you will promise me the same,” she said, and it was his turn to nod, before he leant in and pressed a firm kiss to her forehead. “I promise,” he murmured against her skin, his lips fluttering warmly against her. It was almost enough to make her shudder, her fingers clenching slightly around his forearms.

“I’d best not keep the men waiting any longer,” he said more loudly, as though to all present. Myrcella forced herself to let go of his arms, seeing that look of regret in his eyes again as his own hands came from her waist. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you will return,” Lady Stark said briskly, and Myrcella nodded, trying to brighten her expression. Robb clearly wasn’t fooled, she could tell by the look in his eyes, but she was grateful that he said nothing to call attention to it. Instead he cupped her face in his hands gently before pressing a firm but chaste kiss to her lips. There were unspoken words in his eyes when he pulled back, and she felt her own sticking in her throat. “I’ll be back soon,” he finally said, after which he turned abruptly and marched from the parlour. The silence he left behind was thick, and Myrcella could feel four sets of eyes on her as she stood there. If she looked she knew she would see sympathy, and that was the last thing she wanted to be faced with. Instead she took a deep breath before she too marched from the parlour.

She didn’t stop until she reached the entrance hall, and she could hear the sound of hooves on stones even through the closed doors. Without another thought she went for them, the guards springing into action at once, opening them up before bowing her through them. She had forgotten her cloak, but it hardly mattered, she wouldn’t be out for long. As she descended the steps she saw the last of the mounted men disappearing under the northern gate of the keep. She walked briskly towards the gatehouse, shivering slightly in the cold air, but grateful at least that it wasn’t snowing. Quickly, she made for the steps that would take her up onto the ramparts. The wind was more raw up here, and she shuddered as she looked north, seeing the small band of men riding quickly down the road that would lead them towards Long Lake. At the head of the party she could make him out easily, his auburn head easily distinguished from his dark companions. He didn’t look back as she stood up there watching him, but it eased her somewhat as she kept her eyes on him until he became little more than a speck in the vast bleakness of the North.

* * *

Myrcella allowed herself to wallow for a few days, missing Robb more than she had ever imagined she would. It was worse this time, on account of the fact that they had had such a blissful time together since he had returned from Torrhen’s Square. She even missed the sound of his breathing. That was when she knew she had to snap out of it. Robb wouldn’t want her to be miserable in his absence. What she needed was something to distract her from missing him. So, with that in mind, on the third day she hauled herself out of bed and dressed warmly, braiding her hair back from her face and pulling on her sturdiest boots. When she was ready she made her way from their chambers and down the hallway to the stairs. Down she went, entering the dining hall first so she could break her fast. There was no one around but the servants, and Myrcella did her best to ignore the hardness in their eyes when they were curtseying to her. The women were the worst, she had discovered that quickly. Not one of them had been what she would call kind, and it made her heart ache for Etta.

She had written to her old attendant, but had yet to hear a reply. Gods, she hoped that she was alright. Myrcella imagined that she might have left the Capitol and returned home to the Stormlands by now. Perhaps her family would have found a match for her. Myrcella hoped that she would be happy, thinking that she might mention her to Tommen in her next letter and hope that her brother knew something of her. Of course, it could just be that her returning letter had been lost. That happened a lot during winter, and it was well upon them now. At least, it was here in the North. She had grown quickly used to the cold, and had not let the snows stop her from taking her daily walks with Robb. A cold sun still shone for a few hours each day. It was just enough to cheer her, just the sight of it. The keep was where she clung to when the darkness came though, the soft warmth of the candles, and the flickering heat of the countless fires.

Myrcella pointedly thanked the servants who brought her breakfast, but not one of them would look her in the eye as they served her. She tried not to let it get to her, but it was difficult to when she saw how they fawned over the other members of the Stark family. Some of the guards had grown to speak kindly to her, and she had been pleased to share smiles with them as she went about her daily business. The serving girls though were apparently less forgiving. Myrcella often saw them whispering behind their hands. She did not know what they uttered to one another, but it was not hard to guess. They assumed her an imposter. A bastard. A girl with no right to sit the throne next to their beloved king. She sighed heavily and finished the rest of her breakfast before picking up her wine cup and draining it. With that she pushed away from the table and made her way down the middle of the hall, purposely raising her chin just a little higher than necessary. It didn’t matter what they thought. Robb and the Starks mattered, and they wanted her here. That was enough for her.

She approached the guards in the entrance hall, smiling brightly for them, pleased when they returned the gesture easily. “Are you wishing to leave the keep, my queen?” one of them asked her. “That depends,” she responded, “I am looking for Lady Stark, do either of you gentlemen know where she might be?”

“I believe she was heading to the steward, my queen,” came her reply, and she nodded her thanks. “Thank you,” she voiced it, “I will trouble you no longer.” They both bowed to her as she turned on her heel and made her way down the hallways towards the steward’s quarters. She was glad that Lady Stark was with him and not with the Maester so she didn’t have to head out into the cold to reach his tower. Myrcella paused when she came to the door, hoping her intrusion would be welcome, before she raised her fist and knocked lightly. “Come,” it was the steward, Beron, who called for her to enter, and she did as she was bid. “My queen,” he bowed lowly to her at once, and she hoped that she wouldn’t blush. More than anything she wanted him to take her seriously and not see her as a little girl playing at queen. “This is a surprise,” Lady Stark said kindly, “what is it we can do for you?”

“I wondered if I could help,” Myrcella said, meeting her good-mother’s eyes and seeing the surprise in them. It was to be expected, she supposed. So far, despite Robb being insistent that she was now Lady of Winterfell, she had been happy to leave all the duties to his mother. Lady Stark had been in the role for years, and it terrified Myrcella to even think of taking over from her. As far as Robb knew she helped his mother while he was otherwise engaged, and Myrcella hadn’t had the heart to correct him. Now he was gone, she was determined to learn properly how to run the household and the keep. Her own mother had never taught her, and deemed it beneath her. This wasn’t the Capitol though, everyone here at Winterfell had a duty. Queen or not, Myrcella was determined to pull her weight and show everyone that she could fit properly here. “Of course,” Lady Stark’s response pulled her from her inner thoughts, and she smiled in relief at once.

“I think it passed time I learned how to take care of things,” Myrcella said, and her good-mother smiled at her, her eyes so like Robb’s sparkling with something that looked almost like pride. “I will be happy to guide you,” she assured her, “but don’t think you must do everything exactly as I have been doing. We all have our own ways, and as long as they work, it matters not that they differ.” Myrcella took a breath of relief at that, before taking the few steps to stand at her good-mother’s side. “These are our usual trading routes,” Lady Stark pointed to the papers strewn across the table. “May I?” Myrcella asked, looking between her and the steward. Beron gestured to them easily, smiling slightly at her. “Please, go ahead, my queen,” he said, and she pulled a few of the sheets closer to her. She recognised the names of most of the places, though there were a few she didn’t. In her mind she made sure to memorise them so she could look them up on the big map of the North in Robb’s council chambers later.

She noted that Winterfell even shared trade with some of the towns in the Riverlands, recognising them as those closest to the border. There was a shipment from Dragonstone that appeared to come but once every six moons, and she realised after a moment of thought that it was likely dragonglass. Vaguely she remembered hearing her grandfather speak of the walkers, how they could not assume that they would be gone forever. _“If they rise again we will be prepared, I will not lose such numbers again.”_ That was why the Wall had so many new recruits, and why a stock of dragonglass weapons was being forged and stored. Myrcella already knew that those men of the Watch who went out ranging were already required to arm themselves with such weapons. Better safe than sorry after all. She lay the sheet she had been studying back down on the table, taking a breath before she made any comment. “I imagine Winterfell will not be able to rely on trade for much longer,” she spoke up, and Beron nodded his head.

“Many of the more remote settlements have already ceased delivery,” he informed her, “for now the Kings road is still passable, but it will not be for long. When the snows lay thick all northern settlements will be responsible for their own survival, and that includes Winterfell.” It was her turn to nod at that, taking a long breath as she imagined all the little villages and their occupants who would somehow have to manage through the winter. Again, she silently prayed that it would be a short one. She also knew that many of those in tiny, remote settlements came to Winter Town when the weather grew colder. Robb had pointed out to her how many plumes of smoke were rising from the town surrounding them one evening when they were walking along the battlements. He had told her that it was a good sign; that it meant many people had already managed the journey, boarding up their summer homes before coming to their capital for the winter.

“Robb told me there is a bountiful harvest in the glass gardens,” Myrcella spoke up, hoping that her husband had indeed been telling the truth. Thankfully both Beron and Lady Stark nodded their agreement, and she felt a little placated. “And the grain store is just over half full,” Beron elaborated, “which is good, considering how short the summer proved to be. Farmers have brought their animals in from the hills, and we already have meat preserved.” Again Myrcella nodded, trying not to let her distaste show on her face as she remembered the tough strips of salted beef and pork that they had had at the Capitol during the last winter. “We are well prepared for winter, Myrcella,” Lady Stark smiled kindly, “we are Starks, after all.”

* * *

Myrcella’s head was spinning by the time she went up to her chambers for bed. She had had no idea the amount of work that Lady Stark put into running Winterfell. Naively, she had assumed that most of the work was done by others, and that her good-mother merely oversaw it, or ordered it to be done. Not so. Lady Stark seemed to have no help besides that of the steward and the Maester, though she had been without complaint as Myrcella had trailed her around, trying to take in as much as she could. There were so many problems that she had to consider, and so many people to speak and consult with. There were things she had to order for the keep that Myrcella had never even considered, such as candles and firewood. They had spoken to the woodmen, and they had told them of the difficulty of keeping up their work rate given the worsening weather and the short hours of daylight.

Lady Stark had listened sympathetically, and in the end she had promised them the coin needed to recruit two more men. Myrcella had asked her where she would find the coin from, and her good-mother had told her that there would be no need for fine silks and laces to be bought for the seamstress during such a time. They had then been confronted by stonemasons who were grumbling about their lack of work, again, Lady Stark had placated them, telling them they could work on fixing the crumbling walls in the gardens. It wasn’t much, but it was something to keep them occupied until Robb returned and could order something more substantial for them to be getting on with. Myrcella knew that he intended to add to the stables and the grain stores, but both she and Lady Stark were unwilling to sanction such a large amount of coin without his explicit instruction.

Thom, the baker, had asked that he be allowed slightly more grain each day so he could bake more loaves. Now that the population of Winter Town was increasing he was sold out of bread long before midday and having to turn disappointed customers away. That was something Myrcella had felt confident enough in granting. Even with her limited knowledge it made sense to allow Thom more grain each day. The more he sold the more coin he made, which meant that more coin would come back to Robb through taxes. Added to that was the knowledge that the people would be better fed. Myrcella also knew that three wagons of grain were on their way from the Riverlands, and would likely reach Winterfell within the next days. After giving Thom permission to increase his order of grain she had looked to Lady Stark to make sure she had done the right thing.

Thankfully her good-mother had smiled, and told her that the man Thom employed to grind the grain into flour would likely be grateful for the extra coin and the extra hours as well. She had been relieved at Lady Stark’s praise, and glad that she had managed to at least contribute to her duties. Selfishly, she had also hoped that Thom might speak of her act of kindness to others, and that they might begin to thaw a little towards her. She had not come across many of the townsfolk, but she could not help but imagine that they probably harboured similar feelings to those of the servants at the keep. Hopefully Thom would have a kind word to say about her, and hopefully, others would listen to him. She didn’t want Robb’s subjects to despise her. Likely they would never love her or clamour for her, but she did not relish the thought of being forever looked upon disdainfully and whispered about behind raised hands. She did not want to end up being her mother.

Myrcella shuddered slightly as she undressed, wrapping Robb’s robe firmly around her and deciding not to think any more about her mother. She had eventually written back to her, again insisting that Robb treated her well and that the Starks were being most kind to her. There was no reply as yet, but she tensed herself for one every day whenever she saw the Maester approaching with letters in his hands. She lived with half a hope that this time she would get through to her mother. Likely it would prove futile, but at least she could say she had tried. With a sigh she pulled back the covers and furs and climbed into bed, snuggling down against the pillows and tucking the furs around her. Once settled she tugged the lapels of Robb’s robe closer to her face and inhaled the scent of him that still lingered there. She had worried that he might take it away with him when he left, but he had laughed and told her that when under canvas in snow it was best to sleep fully clothed.

Gods. She hoped he was warm enough, that enough furs had been packed onto the horses, and that they were managing to light a fire come nightfall. He had told her that he would be just fine, assured her that he was a Stark. That winter flowed through his veins. Grey Wind was with him too, and Myrcella had no doubt that his wolf would curl up at his side and keep him warm should it be necessary. She closed her eyes, feeling irrationally jealous of the great beast. What she wouldn’t give to be the one curling up beside him every night, warming him despite the freezing temperatures surrounding them. She sighed. Soon enough he would be back, and she had no doubt that he wouldn’t be able to leave again before the snows melted. If news of a deserter had come just a little later then she knew that it would just have had to wait until spring. The snows were falling so thickly when they came now, and the air was so cold that it all just settled, freezing hard and just waiting for another flurry to add more height to it.

Already, Myrcella was living with the fear that Robb might not be able to make it home. She had voiced it at dinner, trying to sound casual as she asked how deep the snow would have to fall to prevent him from returning. Bran had soothed her fears somewhat, telling her that the snow froze so hard that people would only sink down a few inches in the softer, newly fallen snow, before hitting the rock hard snow beneath. It could be several feet deep, but as long as it was frozen solid it didn’t matter. Horses would find it difficult, especially with the weight of a man atop them, but it came to it then the men would just dismount and walk, leading their mounts behind them. Myrcella hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Right now the snow was only a few feet deep, easily passable for the horses, and thankfully there had only been a few flurries of snow since Robb had departed. He was going further north though, further into the winter. She could only hope that the snows would not fall too hard where he was going. She needed to know he would get home, already being without him was like torture. The sooner he returned to her, the better she would sleep at night.


	20. XVIII: Reminisce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! New chapter for you that I hope you will enjoy.
> 
> Big thanks to everyone who has left kudos!
> 
> Extra big thanks to three users who left such lovely comments and filled me with such positivity; 
> 
> cindeecaramel, Ms_Moon21, and bluemoonblues, thank you all so much. And thank you to everyone else who has commented along the way, I still can't believe how much people are enjoying this - so thanks!
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy the new one! 
> 
> :)

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

 

Robb had been more glad that he could explain to see the small settlement rising up out of the mist after journeying for near a week. Only a few of the little fishing huts had plumes of smoke rising up from the roofs, and he imagined most of the inhabitants had already made the journey to Last Hearth for the winter. Usually it was the old who remained behind, unable or unwilling to make the journey through the snow. Robb knew well enough that not all of them would survive winter, but he tried not to dwell upon it as they came upon the stables and large storage barn. Several horses were already tethered so he knew well enough that the men of the Night’s Watch would already have arrived. His eyes went to the barn as he dismounted, handing the reins to Billy with thanks. He noted the lock on the barn doors, and the two men stood guard outside, and knew at once that the deserter must be being kept inside.

Further on he could see the shapes of several tents and the flickers of bonfires. On seeing them he gave the order to his small band of men to set up camp amongst the men of the Watch. They agreed readily, already unpacking canvas and furs from the horses. Robb walked away from them then, making his way to the guards at the barn, seeing the sigil of house Umber stitched into their cloaks. “How is Lord Umber faring?” Robb asked as he approached, remembering the Greatjon being unable to attend his wedding due to illness. The Smalljon had returned to Last Hearth after their trip to Torrhen’s Square, and he had heard nothing since. “My lord is faring better,” one of the men informed him, “though he has been taking less duties, he asked us to relay his well wishes to you, your Grace, and to the queen.”

“That is most kind of him,” Robb said, inclining his head, “you must relay my own well wishes, and hopes that he soon makes a full recovery.” The man bowed his head at that, and promised to pass on Robb’s message. “Does our deserter speak?” Robb asked next, inclining his head towards the barn door. “Only to say he is cold, that he only wanted to go home,” the man informed him, and Robb sighed heavily. “How old?” Robb asked next, steeling himself for the answer. “A man grown, your Grace, he has seen over thirty name days I would wager,” the man informed him, and he took a breath of relief. It was always worse when the deserters were young and would quake with fear, begging for forgiveness. Robb hated having to pass the sentence of death to them, but they had broken vows, and he had to uphold the laws of the country that had existed for far longer than he had. His father had had to endure it, and now he did too. It was the way of the world, the duty he had been born to do.

“Have him ready at first light,” Robb said, again inclining his head. The man returned his gesture; “as you wish, your Grace.” With that Robb turned heel and walked away, skirting round the shores of the lake to try and gather his thoughts before turning and heading up towards the camp. This was only the fourth time he had had to ride out to deal with a deserter, but each time it stabbed as a reminder of the last time he had ridden out with his father. When they had found the direwolves, not long before King Robert had come down from the Capitol and unwittingly asked his father to come to his death. Robb clenched his fists hard. It still hurt to think of it. Still angered him. Even after all these years he could still not make peace with the injustice of it all. Grey Wind’s happy whines and yelps drew his attention as he walked closer to the camp, hearing the yaps of another wolf joining in with his elation.

He followed the sounds, knowing they would lead him to his brother. Sure enough, he passed between two tents to see Grey Wind and Ghost rolling around happily and snapping playfully at one another, and an amused looking Jon stood in the mouth of his own tent watching them. “Would you be offended if I declined us rolling in the snow?” Robb spoke up to draw his attention, and Jon grinned widely on seeing him. “Wondered when you would show up,” his brother said, and Robb stamped towards him. “Lord Commander,” he stopped a few feet from him and inclined his head. “Your Grace,” Jon inclined his own head, before they both laughed heartily and stepped forward to meet in a brotherly embrace. “You look half wild, brother,” Robb stepped back, ruffling his hand in Jon’s unruly hair, taking in the length of it and the length of his beard.

“And you look well groomed, brother,” Jon returned, “as a king ought to, I would wager.” Robb only laughed at that, rolling his eyes and clapping Jon on the shoulder. “Come, they have just brought meat and mead,” Jon said, clapping his hand between his shoulder blades and guiding him into his tent. There was a brazier flickering in the middle, and Robb moved to it, removing his gloves and warming his hands by the flames for a moment as Jon poured them both a tankard. “Have you seen him?” Jon asked as he offered one of the tankards to him. “No,” Robb replied, taking it from him, “I spoke with the guards, told them to have him ready by morning. Did you know him?”

“Of course I knew him,” Jon said, seating himself down at the table. Robb moved to take the seat opposite him, taking in his brother’s stance, and seeing him relaxed. From that he could only conclude that the deserter had not been someone he had been friendly with, something that helped to quell his lingering unease. “Have him pegged for a deserter?” Robb asked, taking a long drink of the mead and finding it rich and fulfilling. “This is a good barrel,” he commented before Jon could answer his question. “Aye,” his brother agreed, “brought down from Last Hearth as a gesture of goodwill to you, _your Grace._ ” Jon grinned at the end and Robb narrowed his eyes slightly at him. “And how much have you and your men helped yourselves to?” he asked, and Jon chuckled. “There’s plenty left, never fear,” Jon said mockingly.

“Good,” Robb said pointedly, taking another long draught from his tankard. “To answer your question, perhaps,” Jon said after a moment, “he never settled nor formed a close bond with any of the others. To say he was reluctant to say his vows would be an understatement, but he did swear them. No one forced him. We all have a chance to say no, Robb, but he didn’t. He swore his life to the Watch, and now he has to pay for his desertion.” Robb nodded slowly at that, hearing Jon’s words definitely made him feel a whole lot better about the duty he would have to perform come morning. “Anyway,” Jon spoke up again as he moved to help himself to the meat and bread that had been brought for them. “Enough of this unpleasantness for now. How is everything? Everyone? It has been far too long since I have seen any of you.”

“Everyone is fine, the threat of winter is weighing on all our minds, but our stores are healthy enough, and it cannot be any worse than the last one,” Robb said, grimacing slightly at the memory of the seemingly never-ending, bitterly cold weather and near constant darkness. “Last one tested us all,” Jon agreed grimly, “I don’t think we would be alone in praying for a winter as short as the summer we briefly enjoyed.” Robb hummed his agreement at that, pulling some of the food onto his own plate. “How is the queen?” Jon asked almost tentatively, his eyes fixed on his plate rather than on Robb. “Perfectly well,” Robb answered him, “or at least she was when I left Winterfell, I can only hope she is still as I left her.”

“Good,” Jon sounded relieved, raising his head back up from his plate and moving to top up their tankards. Again Robb hummed his agreement, his mouth full of boar that was far more tender than he had imagined it would be. “Bran?” Jon asked next, licking his fingers clean of grease. “Growing more learned by the day,” Robb informed him, and his brother nodded slowly. “Rickon?” he asked as Robb took another mouthful. “Finally getting on better with his sums,” Robb told him once he had swallowed down his mouthful, and Jon chuckled. “Arya?” he inquired next, and Robb rolled his eyes. “A pain in my neck,” he said exasperatedly, “but I would not change her for anything, and she seems to have struck up some kind of affinity with Myrcella now, which makes life slightly easier.”

“I don’t suppose you have seen much of Sansa,” Jon raised a brow before bringing his flagon back up to his lips. “She came for the wedding,” Robb said, “with Olyvar and the girls, we will not see them now until winter is over, but they were all well in the time we had with them.”

“And your mother?” Jon asked slightly stiffly, and Robb smiled slightly. “As well as she can be,” he said honestly, “though she is still in widows black.” Jon nodded sympathetically at that as Robb took a rather large mouthful of mead. “I still miss him too,” Jon said quietly after a long moment of silence, and Robb nodded heavily. “We all do,” he said just as quietly, and they both lapsed into silence for another long moment. “Do you ever wonder what he would think of us now?” Jon finally spoked up again, and Robb’s brow furrowed as he thought on it. “I hope he’d be proud,” he said honestly after a moment’s reflection. “Aye, no doubt,” Jon nodded his head, “King in the North, and of the Trident, peace with the Lannisters and the family safe.”

“I’m not sure he’d be happy with all of that,” Robb said honestly, sighing heavily before taking a long drink. “You did what you had to do, it doesn’t mean you’ve forgiven them,” Jon said quietly, his eyes insistent when Robb met them. “I just wish I could have ended the Kingslayer and his bitch of a sister,” Robb said irritably, “that would have been real justice. They spawned our father’s killer, they created the monster who took him from us.” His hands were shaking by the end, and he clenched them both round his tankard to quell the shake. “You couldn’t have refused,” Jon said quietly, “you would have been mad to refuse. Think of the lives you saved by signing that treaty. You did the right thing, I would have done exactly the same in your position.”

“But would father?” Robb asked him just as quietly, and he saw Jon sigh heavily. It was something that still plagued Robb, even after all these years. He knew well enough that his father had given up his own life to ensure the secret of the royal children was uncovered. He had exposed them so that Stannis would know he was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. His father would have backed Stannis had he been able, Robb knew that well enough, and yet he had still helped to ensure that the rightful heir to the throne would never seat it. To help justify it he told himself that Stannis would have plunged the kingdoms into turmoil with his worship of the Red God. He told himself that by helping stamp out his threat he was saving the kingdoms from years of potential civil war. The people would not have taken kindly to their Gods being burned before their eyes, nor their Septons. Nor those who just rejected the new religious ideology Stannis had been intent on installing.

That eased his conscience where Stannis had been concerned, and he told himself that his father would have understood. His father could never have followed a man who would desecrate the Gods he worshipped, rightful heir to the throne or not. He would have followed Renly in his place though, no doubt. Renly had been a friend to his father, and that was the reason Robb had refused point blank to engage him or his army. He had agreed to take his army and meet Stannis, but he had left Renly to Tywin. Renly was dead before the Lannister army had even come upon the camp, slain in the night, and the Tyrells had meekly surrendered there and then. They had taken his head anyway, and adorned it atop the walls of the Red Keep. Robb was glad he had not been there to see that sight. Had been glad to march back to the North and leave the blood and the guilt behind him.

“For the girls,” Jon’s voice snapped him out of his troubled memories, “he would have done anything to get the girls back.” Robb nodded his head, determined to believe his brother, and determined to drown out his memories. _If I had done things differently, I would not have Myrcella._ She had made signing that treaty even harder. The thought of having her as his wife had filled him with dread. Had almost disgusted him. Now she was the one thing that could keep any lingering guilt away better than anything else ever could. Knowing he had her somehow made all the rest of it blur into insignificance. It made it all worth it. She was a prize, not a burden, and by the Gods he was missing her so much in this moment that he could barely stand it. “Are you alright?” Jon asked him concernedly, and he nodded automatically. “I will be,” he responded, “as soon as this is over with and I can be on my way home again.”

* * *

The sky dawned a glorious red, a sure sign of blood being spilled this day, at least according to the old tales. Robb wasn’t sure that was a tale he had much faith in, given the amount of blood he had known to be shed on days that had dawned grey or white or yellow. Still, the sky was not wrong on this occasion, the deserter’s blood would stain the snow within the hour, Robb himself would make certain of that. He stretched his back slightly as he breathed in the morning air, his breath rising in clouds before him. Gods, he was sick and tired of sleeping on the hard snow covered ground, with only a canvas sheet between him and the snow, and furs all around him. He longed to be wrapped in furs and his wife, be warm and snug and bare instead of shivering himself into an uneasy and uncomfortable sleep every night. Sometimes it was easier to sit up and awake, and doze in the saddle during the days ride. At least that way he could be beside a fire.

“Your Grace?” Robb turned at the voice, bringing a smile to his face for Billy who was stood with a plate of food for him. “Thank you,” he said, taking the plate of bread, cheese, and cold meat from the night before, and moving to sit atop an upturned barrel that had been set near the dying embers of one of last night’s bonfires. “Morning,” Jon’s sleepy voice drew his attention as he ate, and he looked up to see his brother settling opposite him with a plate of his own. “Morning,” Robb returned when he had swallowed his mouthful. “I expect you will be away as soon as this is done with,” Jon guessed well, and Robb nodded his head. “Aye,” he confirmed, “it does no good to linger in such times, and I have men who want to be at home.”

“No doubt you yourself want to be home,” Jon said knowingly, and Robb nodded his head again. “I cannot deny that,” he said, smiling wryly, “it is all I have ever wanted since I marched south all those years ago. Yet it seems there is always something to drag me away again.”

“The perils of being King,” Jon said, and he snorted. “Aye,” Robb agreed heavily, “one of many. Anyway, don’t listen to me, you have burdens of your own. Do you have any out ranging at the moment?” He determined to change the subject, talking about home just made him miss it all the more. “We have a few out, but with luck they will have returned by the time we do,” Jon answered him, “likely we will not stray far from the Wall now winter is really setting in, but if you were wondering about the walkers, we have seen nothing.” Robb nodded at that, his discomfort eased somewhat. It was foolish, but whenever he received a letter bearing the Lord Commander’s seal he always braced himself for news that the dead were walking once more. “Good,” he said simply, and Jon nodded his agreement.

“If I can live out my days without seeing another of those nightmares I will die a happy man,” Jon said, and Robb could only agree with him. “Aye,” he said, “I never know what was worse, them or the dragons.” Jon chuckled slightly at that, draining his tankard before setting it down in the snow. “At least there were only three of them,” Jon winked at him, and Robb rolled his eyes. “Aye,” he said wryly, “when you put it like that…” he tailed off with a grin, and Jon smiled widely back. Billy approached them then, and Robb looked to him expectantly. “Apologies, your Grace,” he bowed shortly, “the men are ready with the deserter, shall I bring your sword?”

“Aye, fetch it,” Robb said heavily, rising up to his feet, Jon doing the same opposite him. It still felt strange to hear Billy refer to Ice as _his_ sword. To him it was still his father’s, the one he had hanging from his hip was _his._ Still, when it came to dealing out the justice of the North he always used the Valyrian steel. When it was not in use it was hung up above the mantle in his council chambers, a permanent reminder of all the times he had ridden out with his father to witness justice carried out. Despite the bloody end to them, Robb had always enjoyed those trips, the times spent laughing with his father, Jon, and Theon. The times when they would race one another on the way back. He closed his eyes for a moment, pushing those memories to the back of his mind before he opened them again. “Ready?” Jon asked him, and he nodded curtly.

They walked in step towards the storage barn, seeing Robb’s own men, and some members of the Night’s Watch already present. They all inclined their heads to them as Robb and Jon made their appearance. There was a silence about them that Robb was unwilling to break, turning his head to see Billy approaching with Ice in its wolf sheath. A rustle from the dying undergrowth drew his attention, and he looked to see Grey Wind and Ghost emerging. Obviously they had just returned from a night’s hunting, their muzzles still an ominous red. Grey Wind looked towards him and yapped once, to which Robb inclined his head. With that his wolf and Jon’s padded away from where they were gathered and down towards the shore of the lake.

When Billy reached his side he looked towards the two Umber guards and inclined his head to them. They moved to enter the barn at once, and Robb counted the beats of his heart as he waited for them to bring out the deserter. They did not take long, holding the man still in the black of the Watch between them. The man looked resigned to his fate when he briefly met Robb’s eyes, not shrinking back from the block that had been laid out ready for him. “Any final words?” Robb asked him, taking a few steps closer to the condemned man. “Winter would have killed me anyway,” the deserter said tiredly, “I took a chance, now I must pay the price.” He glanced towards where Robb knew Billy was stood with Ice as he said the words, and Robb nodded grimly. “Kneel,” he said quietly, “keep yourself still and it will be over in an instant, I can promise you that.” The man nodded at that, looking almost grateful to him for his words. Robb half turned towards Billy, gesturing for the sword. His squire came forward, and offered the sheath to him.

Robb wrapped his hand around the hilt and pulled it free from the wolf sheath before turning back to the deserter. The two guards stood close behind him as he knelt down in the snow and lay his head down on the block. Robb moved to stand beside him, wrapping both his hands around the hilt of the sword before bowing his head. “I, Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North, and of the Trident, sentence you to die. May the Gods have mercy on your soul,” he spoke the words clearly into the silent morning before he lifted Ice into position and swung it easily through the air. He was true to his word, the man kept still and the blow was enough to cleanly sever his head from his shoulders. Robb took a breath, closing his eyes for a moment as the metallic tang of blood stung his nostrils. When he opened his eyes again he moved away, those present bowing their heads to him as he passed by them. As he passed Jon he clapped his brother on the back, before continuing on down towards the shore of the lake.

He pulled off his gloves as he approached the water, leaving them atop one of the larger rocks as he knelt down in the shale and lay Ice in the freezing waters of Long Lake. A crunching of steps had his head turning, and he smiled faintly as Grey Wind prowled towards him, his muzzle now clean but still damp from the water. He nudged Robb’s shoulder with his great head, and he moved one of his hands to scratch behind his ears for a moment, before he turned his attention back to Ice. His father had always cleaned it in the pool of the Godswood whenever they returned from dealing out justice, but Robb preferred to wash it clean of blood as soon as he could after an execution. He pulled on the hilt, tugging the great blade from the water and seeing it mostly rid of the blood. Using the hem of his cloak he wiped away the few remaining traces, before drying his hands on his cloak and moving to pull his gloves back on.

With that he picked up Ice and trudged his way back up towards the dismantling camp, Grey Wind padding along quietly at his side. He was glad to see that his own men were moving the packed up canvases and furs to the tethered horses, pleased that they would soon be on their way again. There was a tinge of disappointment that he would not have more time with Jon, but he had long grown used to the separation they had to endure. As he thought of him his brother appeared, Ghost on his own heels and a faint smile on his lips. “I suppose this is goodbye until spring,” Jon said knowingly, and Robb nodded his agreement. “Aye,” he said, “let us all pray that the snows will melt swiftly.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed, and they eyed one another for a moment before stepping forward and embracing tightly. “Take care of everyone,” Jon murmured, and Robb gripped him even harder for a moment. “I will,” he said before they broke apart, “and you make sure that wall stays standing, I have enough to deal with without you bringing that trouble to my door.” Jon laughed at that, clapping him hard on the shoulder. “Write when you get back,” Jon implored him. “Aye, you do the same,” Robb responded, and his brother nodded his agreement. “Goodbye, for now,” Robb nodded slowly, and Jon nodded again. “Goodbye, Robb,” he said, and Robb inclined his own head before turning away and making his way briskly towards his waiting man, Grey Wind hulking along in his wake.

When he reached them Billy came forward at once so he could re-sheath Ice. His squire then moved to strap the sword to one of the horses, and Robb turned his attention to his own mount. He hauled himself up, taking hold of the reins and looking towards Billy to make sure he was up atop his own horse. When he could see that he was, Robb dug his heels lightly into the side of his horse to get him moving. “To Winterfell,” he said, moving to the helm of the party, “as swiftly as the Gods will allow us.”


	21. Interlude: A Sister's Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! A shorter chapter than usual, I'm afraid, because we're just off for a glance at the Capitol.
> 
> We're with Jaime this time, rather than Cersei.
> 
> Want to say a huge thanks to all who have been leaving kudos, it's much appreciated.
> 
> And, to bluemoonblues, again, thank you so much for your lovely comment. I'm glad you enjoyed the snow chapter, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story. I can definitely confirm, that yes, writing this story certainly is a joy for me. It's my first time writing Robb and Myrcella as a couple, and Myrcella at all in any detail, but it's definitely a pairing I will consider writing again in the future!
> 
> Right-ho, hope you all enjoy!
> 
> :)

* * *

_Jaime_

* * *

 

“Your Grace?” he knocked smartly on the wooden door of the King’s chambers, his ears pricked for movement within. “Come!” Tommen’s voice called irritably after a moment, and Jaime frowned slightly at his tone. Perhaps this would be harder than he imagined. He did as Tommen had bid him, entering the chambers and bowing his head to the young king. Tommen did not look happy when Jaime lifted his head and met his eyes once more. “What can I do for you, Ser?” Tommen asked briskly, his eyes almost blazing. “The queen mother would speak with you, your Grace,” Jaime told him, and his gaze seemed to almost burn him at the words. “I have told my mother, I will not see her until she has apologised to the queen. Has she?” Tommen raised his brows and Jaime had to resist shuffling from foot to foot.

He knew damn well that Cersei had not been anywhere near the queen, and that there was little chance of the little Bulwer girl getting any kind of apology from his twin. “Your Grace,” he began awkwardly, “the queen mother is beside herself. She meant no offence, she was merely trying to offer some guidance to her good-daughter.” Tommen snorted incredulously at that, and even Jaime had to admit that the explanation was ridiculous. “You think my wife is so weak that she would be moved to tears by the offer of guidance?” Tommen snapped at him, and Jaime grimaced. “I know not what was said, your Grace,” he finally spoke, and Tommen’s hard stare finally seemed to soften a little.

“She called my wife unworthy,” Tommen told him calmly, “she called her shameless for her acts of charity in the city. I will not tolerate anyone speaking to the queen in such a manner, especially not my own mother.” Jaime sighed heavily at that. Cersei had been vague when she had ordered him to go to Tommen and demand her son receive a visit from her. “She was drunk,” Tommen said quietly when Jaime offered up no response, and he grimaced again. “I think she is finding it hard, being away from Myrcella. Worrying about what is befalling her at Winterfell,” he said, hoping that Tommen might find some sympathy for his mother. He was wrong, Tommen merely rolled his eyes.

“Myrcella is perfectly happy in the North,” he said irritably, “her letters are full of joy and praise for her new home, and her new family.” Jaime frowned at that. That was not the tale Cersei had spun him. “That’s wonderful,” Jaime said, his mind already elsewhere. Cersei had already begged him, on her knees with tears streaming down her cheeks, to end Robb Stark’s life for the sake of her daughter. She had told him how miserable Myrcella was, that Stark treated her little better than a whore, and that his family were intolerant of her. According to Cersei, Myrcella had begged and begged to come home, begged to be saved from a life of torment. “Was there anything else, uncle?” Tommen asked almost tiredly. “Because if there isn’t, I ought to be escorting the queen to dinner.”

“Of course, your Grace,” Jaime bowed his head again, “I will keep you no longer.” With that he turned on his heel and made his way out of the chambers. He inclined his head to the two Kingsguard on duty outside and marched down the hallways towards his sister’s chambers. After speaking with Tommen he did not know what to believe. Was it possible that Myrcella was lying to her brother? Sending him placating words so he would not fret and worry about her? He supposed it was, but he knew well enough how close Tommen and Myrcella had always been. Joffrey had been Cersei’s pet, and the other children had merely been _spares._ His sister had never been good at showing affection towards them, she didn’t feel the need to indulge them given that they were never meant to sit any throne. Now both of them did. Jaime almost snorted at that. How wrong Cersei had been, and she had left it too late with both of them to exert any influence over them.

Myrcella bowed her head and did her duty. Tommen had done the same, listening intently to the advice of his grandfather and the council. Now he was of an age to make decisions by himself, and as far as Jaime could tell, he was making all the right ones. Jaime wondered if his twin’s real problem was that she was no longer _needed_ by anyone. Would that really motivate her to lie about Myrcella? It was no secret that she despised the Starks. Jaime himself had no affection for them, but imprisonment aside, he had let any lingering spite go a long time ago. Things could have ended up being a lot worse for him, and he supposed a few months in an exposed cage was a fair price to pay for crippling the northern king’s brother.

He pulled his mind away from that fateful day, knocking firmly on the door to Cersei’s chambers. There was no reply, and so he looked up and down the hallway before he let himself in. He called his sister’s name as he made his way inside, glancing around for any sign of her. It seemed she was not here, and he sighed, turning on his heel to make his way back out before he paused. Before he could second guess himself he marched towards the writing desk that sat in the corner of the room. He opened up the drawers, rummaging inside and finding only blank parchment, quills, and ink pots. With a sigh he closed them again, deciding to leave things alone. His eye was caught by the panelling at the back of the desk though, and he moved his hand to it, pulling on the lose panel until it came away. There was a small space behind it, full of letters.

He pulled them out, recognising the snapped direwolf seal. Already he was doubting his sister’s claims. Myrcella would still have her own seal, or she could have used a blank one, but she had chosen to stamp her letters with the Stark sigil. Why would she do that if she despised them that much? He shuffled the letters before picking one out at random, unfolding it carefully before taking in the neat script. It was no desperate, erratic scrawl. There were no blots on the parchment where her tears had fallen and smudged the ink. His stomach clenched hard. He had always known Cersei possessed a manipulative streak, but he had foolishly thought she would never use her own children for her own ends. Jaime read Myrcella’s words carefully, trying to decipher any hidden meaning, but seeing none. Myrcella was not a devious girl, she would never think to write in code. She was so honest and good-natured that Tyrion had always wondered how she had been borne to Cersei, and now Jaime was wondering the same thing.

_I beg you, mother, please do not think that Robb mistreats me. I know you must have been worried for me, but I promise you, there is no need. He is gentle and kind to me, and he allows me all the freedoms he can. I do not suffer at his hands, nor in his bed. Please, mother, recognise the truth of my words and be at peace. The Starks are not our enemies, they are kin now, through me, and are kinder to me than I had any right to expect. Believe me, mother, because I do not think I have any more words to persuade you of this truth, and I do not think I can bear to read another letter from you containing such poisonous assumptions. Robb cares for me, and I for him. Please be satisfied with that as I am, as it is more than I ever dared dream of._

Jaime closed his eyes and sighed irritably. What in the name of the Gods was Cersei thinking? What in the name of the Gods had he been thinking to agree to help her without demanding to see Myrcella’s letters with his own eyes? She wanted Stark dead, even though she must know what his death would do to her daughter. Was her hatred of the Starks really that great that she would sacrifice her daughter’s happiness and risk another war? Apparently so. He quickly folded the letter back up, and placed them all back where he had found them, replacing the loose panel and hiding them again. As he did so he heard the sound of the door opening and he moved away from the desk, seating himself on the sofa and determining to look casual.

Cersei appeared in the next moment, looking surprised to see him. “Well, did you see Tommen?” she demanded of him, and he nodded. “He won’t see you,” he informed her, “not until you apologise to the queen.” She glared at him at that, and he decided to speak up again before she could berate him for his failure. “I’ve been thinking about Myrcella,” he rose up to his feet, and Cersei eyed him. “Have you changed your mind?” she asked him sharply, and he shook his head. “I think we should act now,” he said, “I don’t think we should wait for her to birth a son. If she is suffering this much at Stark’s hands then the sooner he is dead the better. She should not have to suffer spawning his child. Forget the North, Cersei, it will pass into the hands of a cripple and we will have nothing to fear from them. Let’s just get our girl home.”

Cersei stared at him for a long moment, and he held her gaze, trying not to let his relief show on his face when she nodded her head. “Yes, you’re right,” she nodded frantically, “of course you’re right. She isn’t strong enough, she needs to come home now. You need to bring her home, Jaime, and kill that bastard for what he has done to her.” It was his turn to nod then, walking towards her and holding her eyes. “How will you explain your absence?” she asked as he came to a halt mere inches from her. “I will ask father to grant me leave,” Jaime answered her, “I will tell him that I wish to consider my future. If he thinks there is a chance that I might reclaim my right as his heir then he will let me go, I am certain of it. I will see him tomorrow, and then I will get the first ship to White Harbour. I will make it right, Cersei, I will ensure that Myrcella gets the future she deserves before it’s too late.”


	22. XIX: Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, sorry this is a little later than usual! 
> 
> Thanks for the comments on the first Jaime chapter, seemed to be a little disagreement over whether or not he's a moron, but always good to have some differing feelings about. Personally, I'm of the "blinded by love" persuasion when it comes to Jaime's behaviour, but then maybe that's because I'm a big, old romantic haha. 
> 
> Anyway, we're back at Winterfell this chapter, so normal service resuming for now.
> 
> Big thanks for the kudos as well, before I forget! Hope everyone enjoys the new chapter.
> 
> :)

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

 

Receiving word that Robb was a mere day away had put Myrcella in high spirits as soon as the letter had been placed before her by the Maester at breakfast. He also had another letter for her, sealed with a lion. Only two people had written to her so far with that seal, her mother and her Uncle Tyrion. Given that she was in such a good mood having read Robb’s words, she was unwilling to risk souring it by snapping the second seal. There was a good chance it was from her mother, and so she just tucked it beneath her cloak and decided to forget about it for the day. She had more pressing things to deal with, such as overseeing the delivery of supplies to the keep, and making sure a feast was organised for Robb’s return.

He would not want a big fuss, and so she was determined just to have two courses. Never would there have been anything so frugal at the Capitol, even during the last winter, but, as Myrcella kept reminding herself, the North was different. She took a sip of her spiced milk, before turning her head and meeting Lady Stark’s gaze. Her good-mother smiled encouragingly, and Myrcella was glad of the gesture, returning it easily. Today would be the first day that Myrcella took on the duties of the Lady of the Household entirely by herself. Over the last week she had been doing more and more, but Lady Stark had always been there, a step behind her, steering her gently in the right direction whenever she became unsure of herself.

Today it would all be on her, and she was more than a little nervous at the prospect. She hoped it would go well, that she could manage it by herself. Not just for herself, but for Robb as well. She wanted him to see the progress she had made, she wanted him to know that she cared enough for Winterfell to ensure it was run smoothly. Lady Stark had done it all for so many years, and while she never complained, Myrcella couldn’t help but imagine that she might be grateful for a lighter load of duties. It was the least she could do after how nice her good-mother had always been to her, even when she had first arrived and been so sure that all the Starks would despise her. Lady Stark had always been kind, perhaps it was her kindness that had encouraged it in the others. It certainly could not have done any harm.

Myrcella drained her milk in the next moment, resisting the urge to call for more. She had been unable to drink enough of it over that past week, but she was always unwilling to ask the servants any more than she needed to. Likely they would roll their eyes and tut at one another behind her back the moment she asked them to heat some more for her. She would just wait for luncheon, and hope that plenty was warmed so she could have more than one cupful. After rearranging the skirts of her dress she rose up to her feet, pulling her shawl from the back of her chair and draping it around her neck. “Where are you headed first?” Lady Stark asked her with a smile. “I am going to check on the builders in the gardens before the supplies come,” Myrcella told her.

“Don’t linger too long, the sky looks like it is threatening snow,” Lady Stark advised her, and Myrcella hummed her agreement. “I will be quick about it,” she smiled, “and I will likely see you all at luncheon.” The others all murmured their farewells at her words, and she moved along the back of the high table and stepped down off the dais. To the door she went, crossing the entrance hall and bringing a smile to her face for the guards. They gestured to the door of the keep, and she inclined her head, to which they sprang into action to open it up for her at once. A gust of cold air buffeted into the hall and she shuddered slightly. “Thank you, gentlemen,” she inclined her head to them again, and they bowed her through the door, those stationed outside bowing their heads to her as well as she stepped out. The heavy doors were closed at once behind her, and Myrcella didn’t linger, her steps brisk as she made her way across the courtyard and towards the gardens.

Thankfully the builders were working on the wall by the gate so she didn’t have to go far from the keep. Already the wind was swirling viciously around, freezing her cheeks despite how high she had pulled her shawl. One of the men looked up as she approached, alerting the others to her presence. She felt her cheeks flush warm as they all bowed lowly to her, hoping they wouldn’t notice her blushes. Likely her cheeks were already reddened from the raw wind. “My queen,” the man in charge greeted her, and she smiled at him. “I only came to see that you have everything you need,” she told him, “though I can see you have made good progress. There cannot be much left to finish now.”

“No, my queen,” he agreed with her, “not much at all. With luck we will be finished before those clouds deliver the snow they seem to be promising. Though, we have no other work to be getting on with once there is a break in the weather.” He was looking at her hopefully, and she was loath to tell him that she could offer him no more work. She knew that he and his men would need coin more than ever now that winter was well and truly setting in. Likely they all had families, hungry mouths to feed and keep warm. “I myself cannot offer you anything else, but,” she continued before he could look too disappointed, “the King will return tomorrow, and I believe he may have something for you. Perhaps we could schedule an audience with him?”

She tried not to feel too pleased with herself when she saw the look of delight spread across his face. He readily agreed to meet with Robb, and Myrcella promised she would inform him of it as soon as he returned. Likely it wouldn’t quite be the first thing she said to him, but she determined to remember to tell him about it. Hopefully he would allow them to begin work on expanding the stables or the stores. She had seen the accounts with Lady Stark and the steward a few days previously, and they seemed healthy enough to allow such work. Robb hadn’t mentioned any desire to spend the coin elsewhere, so she was hopeful that the builders would remain happy with her after their audience with him. She finally made her way from where they were working, their thanks still ringing in her ears as she made her way back to the keep.

* * *

Overseeing the delivery of the supplies turned out to be a surprisingly easy job. In fact, it seemed to Myrcella that she didn’t have to do anything at all. The various tradesmen delivered the goods to the entrance hall, and the servants set about making sure they were taken to wherever they were stored. Myrcella just stood at the side of the steward while he checked each item off his list, wondering what in the name of the Gods she was needed for. Lady Stark had told her it was an important part of her weekly duty, and so Myrcella had been expecting a little more. So far all she had done was exchange pleasantries with each trader who came up to the keep with their goods.

The candle-maker had told her happily that his wife was expecting another child. She had congratulated him warmly, and after a glance at Beron, decided to add another silver stag to his payment. The man had been even more delighted at that, thanking her profusely before making his way from the keep. Beron had told her in an amused undertone that she ought not to have done that, telling her that all the traders would be claiming their wives with child once they got word of it. Myrcella had told him in return that she thought the candles looked to be of excellent quality, and worthy of an extra coin. He had chuckled at that, and Myrcella felt rather pleased with herself that she had built up some kind of friendly rapport with the steward. It was best this way, especially if she was going to continue conducting duties on her own.

Finally, the last delivery came, three men bearing produce from the glass gardens. There was a little more than originally ordered since Myrcella was organising a welcoming feast for Robb and his returning men. The three that had brought the produce didn’t seem to mind though, their cheeks rosy and their smiles easy as she spoke with them a while. Eventually the produce was all taken down to the kitchen stores, and the men departed the keep in a cheery manner. The guards closed the doors firmly behind them, and Myrcella was grateful the stream of cold air was finally cut off. All the doors leading off the entrance hall had been closed for the afternoon, so not to let all the heat out of the keep while the delivery was in progress. Now they could be opened again, and hopefully the entrance hall would soon reclaim some of its warmth.

“Well, that is us done for the day, my queen,” Beron said, rolling up his list of supplies and tucking them beneath his robes and furs. “I wonder that I ought to have done more to help,” Myrcella said, biting on her lower lip, “it seemed I just stood here all afternoon whilst the men did all the hard work and you checked off the list.”

“Your presence was invaluable, my queen,” he told her, and she raised a brow sceptically. “Was it?” she asked him in an amused tone, and he smiled widely. “The reason it is so important for you to be here, is so that the Lady of the Household is seen by the tradesmen,” he told her, “it is a little thing, but it cheers them to have a little contact with nobility. Usually they would only ever see their lord or lady in a formal setting. Of course, I could easily have overseen this without you, but the candle-maker would not be leaving this keep to spread the word of the kind-hearted queen if I had now, would he?”

“I was here to please the people,” Myrcella said with a slight laugh, it was so obvious now that Beron had said it. All she had done all afternoon was speak to each person who had come up to the keep with supplies for them. “It is a little thing, but if they know their efforts are appreciated by their rulers, then they are far more and contented and happy,” Beron elaborated, “after all. Is that not what we all want, a little appreciation?”

“You are very well appreciated, Beron,” Myrcella told him knowingly, and he smiled sheepishly. “Now, if we are done for the day, I will not keep you any longer,” she continued, and he stepped back from her and bowed lowly. “My queen,” he straightened up, inclining his head to her once more before turning and making his way down the hallway towards his own quarters. Myrcella smiled slightly as she watched him go, thinking on what he had said to her. Hopefully he was right. Hopefully the candle-maker and the other traders would have some nice words to say about her when they returned home to their families. Even just one kind word would be appreciated by her. Perhaps some of it would even filter through to the servants.

It was wishful thinking, but it would do no harm to be a little optimistic. Myrcella sighed, turning on her heel and deciding she would go to the library and sit with Bran for a while before dinner. Rickon might well be there too. He was struggling with his history, and the Maester had ordered him to spend more time reading up on it. At least his numbers had improved, Lady Stark had been despairing of him, but he seemed to have finally grasped them. Myrcella had helped him where she could, but she was hardly an expert when it came to sums. She much preferred helping him with his history, it had been something that had always fascinated her.

Before she could turn down the hallway that led to the library though, she heard the door of the keep open again and turned to see who else had come. It was Thom, the baker, a woman following in behind him. Both of them carried a box, and Myrcella smiled, knowing what the contents would be. She had asked Lady Stark what Robb’s favourite treats were, and she had told her that he had always enjoyed apple and cinnamon cake. Armed with that information she had asked Thom to bake some when he had come up to deliver the bread one morning. He had promised to do so, and now it appeared he had delivered on his promise. As she approached he bowed his head, as did the woman who had come to a halt at his side. “My queen,” Thom greeted her, “I have what you asked for, and a little something else, if it please you.”

“I am sure it will,” she smiled easily at him, “though I do hope you did not go to any trouble. There must be more than enough for you to contend with, given how many more have arrived in Winter Town in the past days.” It was true enough, more and more houses were occupied in the surrounding town now. In fact, it was difficult to find a house where smoke was not rising up from the chimney. “It was no trouble, my queen,” he told her, “it is a plum tart, freshly made. I hope it is to your liking.”

“I cannot wait to try it,” Myrcella told him. Plums were not her favourite fruit, but Thom had gone to a lot of effort, and so she determined she would have some for her sweet course tonight. She would have the tart served up at the high table, between them all she imagined there would only be crumb left by the end of the night. “Thank you very much for bringing these,” Myrcella said, holding out her hands to receive the box from him. “It was trouble,” Thom said, “can I aid you, my queen?” he asked, as she turned towards his female companion. “I am sure the other will balance on top,” she responded, but one of the guards was already approaching.

“Allow me, my queen,” he said, and before she knew it, he had taken the box from her, and from the woman. “Would you like them delivered to the kitchens?” he asked her, and she nodded. “Yes, thank you,” she confirmed, and he bowed his head. “Any instruction?” he asked next. She instructed him to ask that the plum tart be served tonight, but that the apple cake be saved for the King’s return. He promised to pass on her instruction, before turning to do as he was bid, Myrcella calling out her thanks again to his retreating back.

“Forgive me, we have not been introduced,” she smiled at Thom’s companion when she turned her attention back to them. “Forgive me, my queen,” Thom was speaking again at once, “this is my wife, Ada.” Ada dropped down into an elegant curtsey at the introduction, her cloak parting slightly as she did, to reveal her rounded stomach. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my queen,” Ada smiled as she rose back up to her feet, and Myrcella returned the gesture. “The pleasure is mine, I’m sure,” she said, pleased at finally finding a woman who didn’t fix her with a hard stare. “And, might I offer my congratulations,” she nodded down towards Ada’s stomach.

“Thank you, my queen,” Ada said, bowing her head, and smiling again. “Is it your first child?” Myrcella asked, keen to continue the conversation since the woman appeared warm towards her. “It is our first,” Ada answered her, “though, I already have two boys from my first marriage.”

“Oh,” Myrcella said, unsure of what else to say. It appeared her desire to continue speaking with Thom and Ada had led her to stumble upon a subject she sensed might be rather sensitive. “He died,” Ada said quickly, “during the war, but myself and my children are lucky indeed that Thom found us.” There was clear affection in her tone, and her gaze tilted towards her husband, a softness in her eyes. “Though I would insist that I am the lucky one,” Thom said adoringly, and Myrcella’s heart panged painfully for Robb. _Tomorrow_ , she reminded herself, smiling serenely at the happy couple before her. “Well, perhaps you are both lucky, to have found one another despite harder times,” Myrcella said, and they both nodded their agreement.

“Myrcella!” Lady Stark called out behind her before either Thom or Ada could speak again, and Myrcella turned her head to smile at her good-mother. “Lady Stark,” she greeted warmly, her smile faltering slightly when she saw the slight look of panic in the older woman’s eyes. “Is everything alright?” Myrcella asked anxiously, already thinking the worst. That word had come from Robb. That he was delayed. Worse, that something had happened to him. “Of course,” her good-mother’s smile looked slightly forced, “I had just thought perhaps you would accompany me for dinner.”

“We would not keep you any longer, my queen,” Thom spoke up as Myrcella looked between Lady Stark and the young couple she had been happily conversing with. “Oh, of course, I would not keep you either,” she said quickly, “though I must thank you again, for the cake, and for taking the time to trouble yourself with my company. It was a pleasure to meet you, Ada.”

“Thank you, my queen,” Ada curtseyed again, and Myrcella wondered if she was imagining it, or if the woman was deliberately avoiding looking at Lady Stark. “Yes, thank you,” Thom reiterated, bowing his head before he placed his hand on the small of his wife’s back and steered her towards the main door of the keep. “Are you sure everything’s alright, Lady Stark?” Myrcella asked her, a slight frown setting into her forehead as she watched her good-mother watch Thom and Ada’s retreat.

“Of course,” her good-mother assured her, though Myrcella would swear that she still looked rather strained. She searched in her mind for any reason why there might be a problem between her and the baker. As far as she could remember she had been perfectly pleasant to Thom when they had spoken with him last week. Perhaps it was Ada, then? Though, for the life of her, Myrcella could not think of any reason Lady Stark would have to hold animosity towards her. She seemed a lovely woman who had clearly had a hard time in her life, but was now making a happy future for herself. Perhaps she was just being paranoid. Lady Stark could be feeling the strain from any number of things. Likely it was just a coincidence.

“Shall we go into dinner then?” Myrcella asked expectantly, and her good-mother seemed to smile more easily. “Yes, let’s,” she said, the usual warmth back in her tones as she took hold of Myrcella’s arm and steered her towards the dining hall. “We have plum tart for our sweet course tonight,” Myrcella informed her good-mother as they ambled into the hall. “That sounds just lovely,” Lady Stark said, and Myrcella smiled.

“How did you get on today?” Lady Stark asked her as they settled themselves down at the high table. “Well enough, I think,” Myrcella said, once again making sure she smiled brightly at the servants and getting nothing but hard stares back. “Ignore them,” Lady Stark said as they bustled away again, “they will get used to you eventually. When I first arrived here they were just the same. Northerners are fiercely loyal, but they can also be stubborn and unforgiving. Try not to take it personally.”

Myrcella smiled wryly. It was very difficult _not_ to take it personally. She wondered if Lady Stark was being completely honest with her. There was no reason she could think of why the servants would take against her. She decided to push on and ask after a moment, it had been mentioned now after all, likely it would not be a big secret to stumble upon. “What cause did they have not to like you?” she asked, and her good-mother laughed slightly. “I’m a southerner,” Lady Stark told her, and Myrcella frowned. “Surely -,” she began, but Lady Stark cut across her to elaborate.

“Before me, no Lord Stark had ever taken a wife who was not of the North,” her good-mother explained, “but Ned did, and afterwards he fought a war. The two were not implicitly linked, of course, but it meant I did not come here to Winterfell until over a year after our wedding. Robb was already born, so I imagined the people might be happy I had delivered them an heir.”

“But they weren’t?” Myrcella asked her, still unable to understand why the servants would have taken against her. “They were at first,” Lady Stark nodded, “but it wasn’t long before building started on the Sept. You see, before Ned married me, there was no Sept here at Winterfell. He had it built for me so I could continue to worship my Gods. I suppose the people didn’t like that, their lady not taking on the worship of the Old Gods. They do not have anything against the Seven, not really, nor those who worship them, but their way is the old way. I suppose it just took them a little getting used to. In the end I proved myself to them, I think.”

Lady Stark smiled amusedly at the end, and Myrcella laughed slightly. She had seen the adoration that the people bestowed on her good-mother, it had never crossed her mind that it had not always been the case. Still, she could not help but think that it would be a lot harder for her to win them over. As though reading her mind, Lady Stark spoke up again. “It will take time,” she said softly, “but they will not look unfavourably on you forever, not when they realise all that you are doing that is good. They are stubborn, as I said, but they are loyal to Robb. Once they feel you have earned it, they will be loyal to you too.”

“But until then I suppose I just have to sit back and smile,” Myrcella said wryly, and Lady Stark reached out to pat her hand affectionately. “There are far worse things to endure, believe me,” she said, her tone tinged with sadness, and Myrcella felt a pang of guilt for being so sullen about the servants not liking her. One glance at her good-mother in her usual black reminded her that she had lost a lot less than others during the wars. Everyone that she cared about still lived, thank the Gods. “I’m sorry,” Myrcella said sincerely, and Lady Stark nodded, a determined smile coming to her lips.

“Over eight years,” she said, “and yet sometimes, it feels like he was taken from me yesterday. All this talk of the servants reminded me of a long time ago, that’s all. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Myrcella smiled, her turn now to reach for Lady Stark’s hand and offer her some comfort. Before she could help it she was wondering if she would be the same. If she would wear black for the rest of her days if Robb was suddenly taken from her too soon. She almost shuddered at the thought, though the dining hall was perfectly well. He would be back tomorrow, and she would have him in her arms again. She would not dwell on dark things, not when she had somehow managed to stumble upon such happiness.


	23. XX: Home Sweet Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!!
> 
> Thanks as always for the kudos and comment.
> 
> Robb is back this chapter, hope you all enjoy!
> 
> :)

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

It was early evening when he and his small band of men clattered into the courtyard of Winterfell. At once his eyes pulled to the main doors of the keep, seeing his mother, Arya, and Rickon all stood out waiting for him. He frowned slightly, noting Myrcella’s absence, and dismounted at once. His thanks to Billy as he took the reins of his horse were distracted, his mind fixed on discovering the whereabouts of his wife. Before he could ask he found himself embraced by his mother. “Welcome home,” she said happily, beaming at him when she pulled away.

“Cold enough for you?” Arya asked him with a smirk, and he swatted at her.

“Where’s Myrcella?” he asked, ignoring his sister’s question.

“When they called down that you were approaching she went in to make sure hot water was brought up for you,” his mother told him, and he felt his tensed stomach relax. “She had hoped to get back out before you arrived, but clearly she was unsuccessful.”

“Well, I suppose I ought to go and find her then,” Robb said, kissing his mother’s cheek, before sidestepping her. He ruffled Arya and Rickon’s hair on the way passed, taking the steps up to the main doors two at a time. The guards bowed him through, and he gave them his thanks, bypassing the main stairs to head for the back one’s which would find him at his and Myrcella’s chambers more quickly. He took them two at a time as well, emerging in the above hallway, a short distance from their chambers. As he turned towards them he recognised the familiar golden head of his wife retreating down the other way. Clearly she was headed towards the main stairs and he hurried after her at once.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he asked when he was mere feet away, his hands reaching out for her waist. She shrieked in surprise, turning around to face him with wide eyes. It only took a second for her to smile, and in the next moment she had thrown her arms around his neck. He held her tightly against him, burying his head in the crook of her neck and breathing her in. By the Gods he had missed her.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she pulled back from him slightly so their eyes could meet, “I thought I would have enough time.”

“There is nothing to apologise for, I have you here now,” he replied, and she smiled up at him again. He couldn’t help but lean in and capture her lips then, slowly teasing them apart so he could deepen their kiss. A hum of undeniable satisfaction left her, and before he knew it he had her pressed up against the wall, her fingertips digging into his scalp as she fisted her hands in his hair. She pulled away from the kiss with a gasp in the next moment, and Robb took up his cause at her neck instead. He delighted in the little murmurs of pleasure that left her as he nibbled slightly on her delicate skin.

“Your bath…will, get…cold,” she stuttered out as he continued his ministrations, his hands slipping down to the curves of her hips. He pressed a kiss behind her ear in response, before somehow summoning the strength to pull back from her.

“I am very tired, you know,” he told her in an amused tone, his eyes full of intent.

“Is that right?” she asked him with a raised brow, clearly reading his mood with ease.

“Weary,” he confirmed, “I’m not sure I have the strength to bathe myself.”

“Hmm, perhaps I ought to call Billy?” she suggested, and he nipped at her waist, delighting in the slight giggles that came from her mouth.

“I would prefer a woman’s touch,” he practically growled at her, pulling on her hips so they pressed closer to his own.

“Any woman?” she responded, that brow raised again, and he kissed her hard for a moment.

“My wife,” the two words dripped with lust, and she shuddered in his arms, her own eyes darkened with desire.

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” she whispered, her warm, sweet breath teasing his lips.

“See that it is,” he told her, pressing his lips firmly to her forehead before somehow managing to pull himself away from her.

Thankfully it was only a short walk back to their chambers, and he tugged Myrcella in after him, sorely tempted to ignore the bath and drag her right to their bed. It looked so inviting, and so did his wife. She seemed to have other ideas though, somehow slipping away from him and moving to pour some wine. He exhaled deeply. It was good to be back. “Don’t be too long,” he told Myrcella in mock warning as he made his way behind the screen that concealed the bathtub. It was emitting waves of steam, and he sighed in contentment, already imagining the warmth relieving his aching muscles and cold bones.

“Patience is a virtue, your Grace,” Myrcella responded to him as he unwound his furs and tossed them aside before unclasping his cloak and letting it fall to the floor.

“Did your Septa teach you that?” he asked her, pulling on the laces of his doublet.

“She did,” she confirmed, “did no one ever think to teach you?” He chuckled at that, shrugging out of his doublet before bending to unlace his boots.

“No,” he answered simply, hearing his wife hum knowingly in response.

“I thought as much,” she commented, as he rid himself of his boots, straightening up to tug his tunic up and over his head. He unlaced his breeches next, ridding himself of them before finally stepping into the water. A groan of relief left him as he sank down into the steaming warmth, his eyes closing in satisfaction. He had been right, it was just the thing to soothe away the near week of riding he had undertaken to get back.

When he opened his eyes again Myrcella was standing at the foot of the bathtub, his robe tied incredibly loosely around her waist and a cup of wine in each hand. She extended one out to him, and he took it with thanks, his eyes not leaving her. “To your safe return,” she raised her own cup to him, and he did the same.

“To us being together again,” he added his own words, and she smiled widely before taking a sip from her cup. He took a long drink from his own, almost draining half of it, before he lowered it again. Myrcella set her own down on the side table nearby before turning her attention back to him.

“Are you still feeling weary?” she asked him, slowly tugging on the tie that was barely keeping his robe from revealing her glorious body to him.

“Very,” he confirmed, and the robe fell open in the next moment.

She shrugged it from her creamy shoulders before moving slowly towards the bathtub. Robb could not move his eyes away from her, unable to help looking her up and down. It had been far too long since he had been in the presence of her perfection. Quickly, he drained the rest of his wine, allowing the empty cup to drop to the floor when he was finished, before his eyes found her again. He shifted himself further up in the tub as she came closer, stepping carefully into the water in the next moment. Her dainty little feet came to rest on either side of his thighs, and he couldn’t help but run his hands slowly up her calves as she sank down until she came to rest astride him. He was already hard for her, and he knew she knew it from the way her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she shifted her hips slightly against him.

He let his hands travel further, slipping over her smooth thighs, his thumbs slowly massaging against her soft skin. Her own hands travelled up his arms, mimicking the action of his thumbs when she reached his shoulders. Gods, he had missed her touch. He slipped his hands up to her hips, pulling her closer against him and eliciting a gasp from her slightly parted lips. “It’s good to be home,” he told her, moving his hands slowly up her back, which arched under his touch. Her breasts came within kissing distance at her action, and he would be fool to ignore them.

“I missed you,” it was half whisper, half gasp that came from her mouth as he occupied himself at her breast. He teased one of her hardened buds between his teeth, and she moaned softly, her fingernails pinching crescents into his shoulders.

“Show me,” he murmured against her skin, lapping his way up the valley of her breasts until he could latch onto the sensitive skin of her neck once more. Myrcella lifted her hips slightly at his command, her hands leaving his shoulders and slipping slowly down over his chest and lower towards his stomach. His length twitched as her touch found him, and he groaned out against her softness as she guided him into her sweet warmth. She exhaled deeply as she sank down onto the length of him, and he allowed his hands to roam back down towards her hips. Myrcella tilted her head back as she began to slowly rock back and forth, her hands resting on his chest as his came to her hips to guide her movements.

He kept her pace slow, wanting to savour her for as long as possible. Her head tilted back even further as they continued, irresistibly low moans leaving her beautiful lips. What else could he do but lean forwards and press kisses all the way up the exposed flesh of her neck? Her nails pinched into his chest in response, her head lifting back up. He pulled his own back, their eyes meeting with a frightening intensity. It was only a second. Perhaps two, and then her lips had found his, and he released a groan into her glorious mouth as her thighs twitched around him. She was already so close, and he was glad of it because he didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.

One of his hands came up to fist in the hair at the base of her neck, their kiss becoming more furious, her hips rocking that little bit faster. His other hand he slipped between them, to touch her the way she always liked. The way that always made her body shake and writhe. The way that had desperate, wanton little cries leaving her mouth. The way that always made her utter his name pleadingly as he brought her closer and closer to her release. He wasn’t disappointed. Her thighs clenched tighter around him, her lips pulling back from his. Each gasp for air was accompanied by a cry of anticipation. With each rock of her hips she grew louder and more desperate, and Robb bucked his own hips up beneath her, ensuring he gave her absolutely all of him.

It appeared that was enough, a strangled cry leaving her before she gasped out his name, her body trembling, limply falling forwards against his as she clenched him to his own end. She was panting against his shoulder, and his own breathing was coming sharply as he placed his hands on her back and rubbed soothingly up and down the soft expanse. Little tremors were still running through her body, and he could still feel her tightening around him every other moment. He let out a long breath of satisfaction, before pressing his lips firmly to her shoulder. His action seemed to rouse her, her golden head slowly lifting up from his shoulder.

Their eyes met, and they smiled in unison, her eyes lighting up as she continued to pull air through her lips more quickly than usual. “Welcome home,” she whispered, and a near breathless laugh left him as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Most welcome,” he murmured after catching his breath, “perhaps I ought to go away more often?”

* * *

Robb made his way down to the dining hall for dinner feeling utterly content and satiated. He had left Myrcella to get ready on her own after finally managing to crawl out of bed and into his own clothes. If he had waited for her then he didn’t think she would have got much further than slipping out of the sheets and furs before he dragged her back beneath them. He was late down to dinner as it was, and he was feeling utterly exhausted, but she was more than worth it. His family were already present, and he smiled widely at them as he made his way to the centre of the high table, an undoubted spring in his step.

“Evening,” he said to them as he sat himself down, his hands moving up to straighten his doublet.

“Is Myrcella not joining us?” his mother asked as he reached forwards to pour himself a cup of wine.

“She’ll be here soon enough, fixing her hair,” he told her. It wasn’t a complete lie, he supposed. His mother hummed in response, but said no more as Robb began pulling dinner onto his plate.

“Don’t eat too much,” his mother warned him, “Myrcella has arranged a sweet course especially for you.”

“Has she now?” Robb said in an amused tone, unable to help thinking that his wife had already served up a sweet course for him.

“She has,” his mother confirmed as he tucked into his meal. No one spoke for a while, as Robb demolished half his plate in one sitting, suddenly aware of exactly how hungry he was.

“So,” he spoke up after gulping down some wine, “what have you all been occupying yourselves with in my absence?”

“I’ve been learning the names of the old Targaryen dragons,” Rickon piped up, and Robb nodded, taking another sip of wine. Dragons weren’t exactly a favoured topic of conversation, but he remembered the Maester teaching them all about them when he was a boy.

“And how many have you learned so far?” he asked his youngest brother.

“Over thirty, I think,” Rickon told him, and he smiled at him.

“That’s good, Rickon,” he praised, and his little brother looked delighted. “What about you, Bran? Have you discovered anything yet that will change the world?” Robb asked, eyeing his brother, and seeing an amused smile twitching up at his lips.

“I’ve been looking more closely at plants with the Maester,” Bran told him, “I think there are new medicines just waiting to be discovered and brewed.”

“That would be useful indeed, no doubt,” Robb said, and Bran nodded his agreement. “What about you?” he nodded towards Arya. “You’re being strangely quiet, did your tongue fall out while I was away? Or have you just done nothing but spar?” From his mother’s pursed lips and Arya’s sly grin he knew well enough that his sister had likely spent the majority of her time in the tiltyard.

“Ser Rodrik says I could be Master-at-Arms when he grows too old for the post,” Arya told him, and he snorted in a rather undignified manner.

“I bet he said no such thing,” Robb practically cackled, shovelling another mouthful of food into his mouth.

“He _did,_ ” Arya insisted, and Bran and Rickon dissolved into laughter on Robb’s other side. Arya was growing red in the face and Robb noted that even their mother was trying to hide an amused smile.

“Arya,” Robb managed when he had swallowed down his mouthful and his amusement, “I have no doubt you are skilled enough with the sword, but you have no lasting patience.”

“So?” she shot back at him indignantly, and he took a drink of wine before answering her.

“So,” Robb rolled his eyes at her, “how do you suppose to teach young boys how to wield a sword when you will lose your temper with them for being hopeless?” Arya glowered at him, stabbing a piece of meat with her fork far harder than was necessary.

“I could so do it,” she muttered to her plate, and Robb sighed, deciding to take pity on her.

“Why don’t you take a few of the boys from the town under your wing,” he suggested to his sister, “see if you can improve your patience with them. And for the love of the Gods, Arya, will you just _try_ and remember that they are children, and that we all had to start from scratch once upon a time. They will not get good overnight, you need to work with them – _nicely._ ”

“I can be nice,” Arya said, in a tone that suggested that she had never even heard of the word.

“You might want to tell your face that,” Bran told her, and Robb pressed his lips together tightly to stop himself from laughing. Rickon didn’t have the restraint, and he and Bran dissolved into hysterics at the murderous look that crossed Arya’s face. Robb reached for the wine again, noticing his mother studiously drinking hers as he did so.

“You all sound like you’re having fun,” Myrcella’s amused tone sounded just behind him, and in the next moment she was slipping elegantly into the chair at his side.

“Arya is taking on a new role,” Robb told her, trying to use his most serious tone as he could sense his sister was close to losing her temper.

“Oh, what’s that?” Myrcella turned her attention to Arya, whose tense features softened a little at the genuine curiosity in Myrcella’s voice.

“I’m going to be training some of the boys from the town to wield a sword properly,” Arya told her, and Myrcella smiled.

“What a lovely idea,” she said happily, “I suppose not many of the smallfolk get the opportunity to be trained with lords, or ladies,” she added quickly, and a satisfied smile spread across Arya’s face.

“See, Myrcella thinks I’m nice,” Arya told Robb pointedly, and he rolled his eyes.

“Are we forgetting that it was my idea?” he shot back at her, and she stuck her tongue out.

“Well, I think you’re both lovey,” Myrcella said happily, before turning her attention to serving some dinner onto her empty plate.

“Very diplomatic, my queen,” Robb said in an amused tone, and a light blush rose up on her cheeks as he whispered his fingers along the back of her hand for a moment.

“Diplomacy is very important,” she responded, and he grinned.

“Shall I pour you some wine?” he asked her, and to his surprise she shook her head.

“I have rather lost my appetite for it,” she told him, “I have grown rather fond of that spiced milk. It is all I ever seem to want.”

Robb chuckled slightly at that, reaching further down the table for the milk flagon. Usually it was only Rickon who indulged in it, but he filled Myrcella’s cup to the brim, earning him a beaming smile and thanks from her. He settled back down in his chair, letting out a happy sigh as she started on her own dinner. “I do hope you are not too full,” his wife commented after a while, “I have ordered a sweet course especially for your homecoming.”

“So I’ve heard,” Robb returned, “don’t worry, I have not overindulged.” She seemed satisfied with his answer, smiling happily at him before she moved to sip down some of her milk. The servants were already moving through the hall, clearing away the empty dinner plates. Myrcella was still only part way through her meal, and Robb noted that she began to eat slightly more quickly. He moved his hand to her back and held it there a moment. “Take your time,” he told her quietly, but if anything her pace increased even more.

They were coming along the high table now, clearing all their plates. He kept his eyes on them, noting the cold, hard stares that Myrcella was earning when they looked to see her still eating. It was tempting to open his mouth and tell them to show more respect for their queen, but his mother caught his eye as his brow furrowed, her head shaking ever so slightly. He sighed again, irritably this time. His mother smiled at him sympathetically on hearing it, and he moved his eyes back to the servants. Those furthest away were clearly muttering to one another, and he bristled.

He knew chastising them would be a bad idea, they had to learn to respect and show kindness to Myrcella by themselves. If he forced them into it then likely they would only grow more resentful towards her. It irritated him, but there was nothing he could do about it that would not make it worse. Myrcella was a naturally kind and warm-hearted person, eventually he imagined they would thaw towards her. For now he would just have to try and endure the hostility they showed towards her and _try_ not to let it get to him.

She placed her knife and fork down against her plate in the next moment, her meal not finished. One of the servants came forwards at once. “Are you finished, my queen?” she asked rather stiffly, and Robb bit his tongue, knowing his own gaze was hard as he fixed his eyes on the woman.

“Yes, thank you,” Myrcella’s voice was all warmth and politeness, a smile on her face. She got nothing in return, and Robb clenched his fist against the arm of his chair. If they were this dismissive of her in his presence then he dreaded to think what she had had to put up with in his absence. She sat back in her chair in the next moment and he immediately reached out to take her hand.

She turned her smile on him, her eyes soft on his. He returned her smile, rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. “You should have taken your time,” he told her with raised brows, and she sighed.

“And give them more to whisper about behind their hands?” she asked him pointedly, and he shook his head. “It’s _fine,_ ” she stressed before he could say any more, but he was still irked, his head imagining the worst of what they could be saying about his wife.

“They will learn to treat their queen with more respect if they wish to keep their positions,” Robb almost snarled, and he could feel his mother’s eyes turn on him as Myrcella’s widened.

“Promise me you won’t,” she gripped his hand harder, “it will only make things worse, please, Robb.” Her eyes were wide and insistent, as she twisted in her chair so she could meet his gaze. “It’s getting better,” she told him, nodding her head, “the servants might still be cold but the townsfolk have been nice to me. Thom and his wife were here yesterday, and they were lovely.”

Robb stiffened slightly at that, feeling his mother do the same on his other side. While he was pleased that the townsfolk were warming towards Myrcella, he could do without her striking up a friendship with Ada. “And,” Myrcella continued, “the builders are happy enough with me. They will be even happier if you allow them to begin work on expanding the stables…” she tailed off, her tone persuasive and her eyes wide and hopeful.

“I intend to,” he told her, and she looked delighted.

“Good,” she said happily, “now why don’t we just enjoy the rest of your homecoming meal? Ignore them, Robb,” she squeezed his hand, “I have learned to.”

“Very well,” he huffed, still irritated but placated for the most part. Myrcella didn’t seem too upset by the behaviour of the servants, and so he would do nothing for now. They were returning to the hall now, some with flagons of wine to replace the empty ones along the tables, and two with plates of cakes. They were set down at the high table, and Robb smiled at once, recognising the delicious smell they were emitting. “Apple and cinnamon,” he said knowingly, his smile widening as Myrcella nodded her head.

“I was reliably informed that they were your favourite,” she told him.

“Very reliably,” he agreed with her, guessing that his mother must have told her. “They look wonderful,” he added, moving to grab a few before his siblings could demolish them.

“Well, I hope you enjoy them,” Myrcella smiled, caressing the back of his hand for a moment before she too moved to take one of the cakes.

“I’m sure I will,” Robb smiled, before he bit into one of the soft cakes. It tasted heavenly, and he knew he would likely be able to eat several more of them. He reclined back in his chair as he enjoyed his favourite sweet treat, thinking about just how happy he was to be home again.


	24. XXI: Fear Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, thank you all so much, the kudos has gone over 600 which is just crazy to me, but thank you, thank you, thank you!
> 
> Shame that 1000 kudos didn't show up, GabyWinter ;) haha, I jest. Big thanks for your comment, and to, a random person, and GhostGlowLight, you three have excellent detective skills ;)
> 
> Anyhoo, hope you all enjoy the new installment! 
> 
> :)

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

 

Myrcella was sat happily talking with Robb about nothing of importance when it hit her. One of the servants had laid out a tray of crispy bacon and she balked, her hand coming up to her mouth as she almost gagged. “Take it,” Robb said at once, waving the tray away. Thankfully the serving girl did as she was bid quickly, not even pausing to fix Myrcella with her usual disdainful look. She moved her hand away from her mouth when she was safely out of sight, taking a shuddering breath. “Are you alright?” Robb asked her concernedly, and she nodded her head.

“I’m fine now, I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Here, I’ll get you some water,” Robb said, already reaching for the flagon when she stopped him.

“I’d rather milk,” she told him, and he moved his hand to that instead. He carefully poured her a measure, and she thanked him, reaching out to begin sipping it down slowly. She could feel his eyes boring into her as she drank, but he didn’t say a word until she had set her cup down again.

“Perhaps you ought to see the Maester,” he suggested, but she shook her head.

“I feel fine now,” she assured him, but he did not look placated, a strange look in his eyes. She felt slightly uncomfortable under his piercing gaze, and so she picked up her cup again and drank down some more of the milk.

“You know, there may be a reason for your change in appetite,” Robb said slowly, almost tentatively. She set her cup down again, studiously avoiding his gaze.

“What’s that?” she asked him, hoping her voice sounded normal, though her heart was pounding wildly in her chest.

“You could be with child,” he said quietly, and she swallowed hard. “Myrcella?” he questioned her, but still she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “Are you?” he pressed her, and she shook her head automatically. “Are you certain of that?” his tone was almost urgent now, and she took in a shuddering breath.

“No,” she finally said, her voice shaking.

“Would it really be so terrible?” he asked her, definite irritation seeking into his tone now.

“Of course not,” she shook her head in protest, “why would you even think to ask that?”

“Perhaps because you have been unable to look at me since I mentioned it,” he retorted heatedly, and she couldn’t help but curl her fingers back towards her palms.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she told him as calmly as she could manage, and from the corner of her eye she saw him turn away from her, his eyes blazing. She’d angered him now with her evasiveness. It was something she had promised herself many years ago that she would not do. She had promised herself that she would never give him cause to be angry with her, no matter what state their marriage was in. Since they had grown so happy together she had thought that keeping that promise would be easy. What she hadn’t considered was his intuitiveness.

Her suspicions had been aroused during his second absence. Before, really. She had bled after their marriage, while he was away dealing with matters at Torrhen’s Square. Since he had returned though, her moon’s blood had failed to visit her. It ought to have done before he had ridden out to Long Lake, but it hadn’t, and it had still not come. She knew what it meant. She knew damn well what it meant, and it seemed that Robb had worked it out too. He had been back less than a day and he had already realised. She took a shuddering breath, trying to find the right words for him, but he appeared to have found his voice too.

“I thought you might at least be a little pleased at the prospect,” his voice was quiet, but accusing and almost cold. It almost made her flinch away from him.

“Of course I am,” she said, though she was not even convinced by her own words. Robb wasn’t either, it was evident from the incredulous snort that left him.

“No you’re not,” he said bitterly, practically throwing his fork down against his plate. This time she really did flinch. “I thought we were happy?!” he accused her, his eyes turning on her and forcing her own to look down at her fidgeting hands.

“We _are,_ ” she told him firmly, her fingers curling back against her palms again.

“Try looking me in the eye when you say that,” he hissed at her, “it might make it more convincing.” Tears stung her eyes at that, and she closed them tight shut to try and avoid crying here in the middle of the dining hall. She was only grateful that it was mostly deserted. That she and Robb had been so late coming to break their fast that most people were gone already. They were alone up at the high table, thank the Gods.

“I am happy with you,” she told him, every word shaking with suppressed emotion.

“But not happy to bear my child?” she had never heard him so bitter, and it hurt.

“Don’t you dare say that!” she finally lifted her head. “Don’t you ever say that, not after what you -,” she cut off, shaking her head. His hand came to her wrist, wrapping around it almost too tightly.

“After I what?” he demanded of her, and she pulled her wrist free of his grip.

“You’re hurting me,” she told him, and for a moment a look of regret flashed in his eyes.

“Why are you being like this?” he asked her, his tone softer now. “I thought you would be happy at the prospect of us having a family. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Of course it’s what I want,” she snapped at him, her nails digging hard into her palm.

“Then why are you doing this?” he asked her gently, prising her fingers away from her palm. His tender touch was too much. She pulled her hand away from him, rising up from the table quickly. “Myrcella, don’t,” he said warningly, but she ignored him, striding as quickly as she could without running. She didn’t stop until she was out of the dining hall, across the entrance hall and bowed out of the keep by the guards. It was freezing outside, and she had no cloak nor furs about her. Her teeth chattered as she made her way across the courtyard, her eyes fixed on her destination. If she were lucky Robb would not think to look for her there right away.

She scurried up the steps of the Sept, glancing around to make sure that no one was paying her any mind. They didn’t appear to be, and so she cracked the door open just wide enough to slip inside, closing it firmly behind her and leaning back against the solid wood, a long breath of relief leaving her. Guilt was seeping through her veins now, her pounding heart pumping it quickly through every inch of her body. Robb was angry with her, and she couldn’t blame him. He was right. It should have been a happy moment. They should both have been thrilled, smiles so wide they could have cracked their faces. He would have held her. Kissed her. Looked on her adoringly.

Tears leaked from her eyes before she could stop them, and she brushed them impatiently away and walked shakily towards the altar. Her eyes lingered on the statue of the Mother, her hand coming to rest against her still unchanged stomach. She would change soon enough, if all went as it should. A sob rose up before she could stop it, and she sank down to her knees in front of the Mother and prayed harder than she had ever prayed before.

* * *

She tiptoed back into the keep when dusk began to settle. Guilt was set in deep now. She knew Robb had been looking for her. The Maester had told her so when she had finally gone up to see him when her knees were aching from being knelt on the stone floor of the Sept for so long. When she had re-entered the keep though, it appeared that there was no one around save the guards. She wondered where Robb might be. If perhaps he was waiting up in their chambers for her to finally come back. For a moment she considered heading right for the stairs, but then she decided to check his study first. Just in case. She walked quietly down the hallway that led her there, seeing the door standing slightly ajar.

It seemed she had been right to come here first after all. She considered knocking, but then decided just to push the door open. He was in there, sat behind the desk with his head in his hands. She swallowed hard, knowing it was her doing. “I’m sorry,” she said, and he jumped, his head lifting up and his eyes meeting hers. She swallowed hard, somehow holding his gaze. “I’m frightened,” she confessed to him, voice barely more than a whisper. This time he moved, pushing back from the desk and striding towards her. In the blink of an eye she was folded into his arms and she clung to him, tears leaking from her eyes again as he rocked her gently, his lips pressing to the top of her head.

“What are you frightened of?” he asked her, his soft tone laced with urgency. It only served to make her cry harder, clutching him even closer and sobbing into his chest. He rubbed his hand up and down her back, the other stroking through her hair until she eventually began to calm. After what seemed like forever she felt she could breathe evenly again, though she kept her face pressed into his chest.

“I’m frightened I will be like my mother,” she told him lowly, her voice muffled by his doublet. “I’m scared it won’t live,” she continued before he could comment, “I’m scared it will die inside me. I’m scared it will kill me. I’m afraid that winter will be too much for such a tiny, precious thing. I worry that I won’t be good enough, that even if all goes well I will never be good enough,” she could say no more as her emotions were rising up in her again. Robb hushed her gently, his hand still tenderly rubbing up and down her back.

“You’re nothing like your mother,” he told her firmly, and she choked on a sob. “I cannot promise you anything else, but I can promise you that,” he continued, gently prising her away from him and cupping her tear stained face in his hands. “But I believe,” he said fiercely, “I believe that you will live. I believe that you will _both_ live.”

“It should have been happy, and I ruined it,” she whispered, her eyes welling with tears again.

“Enough of that,” he soothed her, rubbing the pads of his thumbs against her cheeks to wipe away her falling tears. “I wish you had just _told_ me, Myrcella,” his voice was pained, and she could see the regret in his eyes.

“I didn’t know how,” she responded, and he sighed heavily, before tugging her closer and pressing his lips to her forehead.

“I shouldn’t have got angry with you, I should have known there was something wrong, I’m sorry,” he whispered against her.

“You had every right to be angry,” she whispered back, her hands coming to clench around his forearms.

“I know it must be overwhelming,” he said, “but would you please promise to talk to me when it all gets too much? Even if you think you’re being foolish. I want to know when you’re afraid, Myrcella. I want to be there to try and make things better.”

“I promise,” she said. It was all she could manage, her words trembling again.

“Hush now, come on,” he pulled her back into his arms, and she leant against him, her arms tight around his waist as he rocked her slightly and murmured soothing things for what felt like forever. “Are you certain?” he finally murmured, and she opened her now dry eyes. “About the…baby?” he elaborated, and she couldn’t help but smile at the word on his lips.

“I am now,” she whispered, “the Maester confirmed it.” She was almost crushed in his embrace in response, and she choked out a little laugh. “I’m not sure you holding me this tightly is good for my health,” she told him, and his grip slackened at once, though he made no move to release her.

“What is good for your health?” he pulled back so he could look down and meet her eyes. “Did the Maester say? Ought you to be resting, or -?”

She cut him off by standing up on her toes and pressing her lips to his. “The Maester said that I am perfectly well, and I can continue on as normal. I only need to make sure I am careful on the snow,” she smiled up at him, seeing the relief in his eyes.

“I cannot believe this is happening,” he said incredulously after a moment, “I have wanted this for so long. The people have been waiting for this for so long.”

Her smile dropped slightly at that, and he clearly noticed, a little frown coming to crease his brow. “What is it?” he asked, and she reached up to caress his cheek gently.

“I know you must want to tell the world,” she said, “but you have to promise you won’t, not yet. The Maester said it is best not to make any announcements until I feel the child stir, lest it be lost.”

“Then I suppose we must obey the Maester,” he sighed, looking slightly disappointed. She nodded her agreement, and he leant his forehead down to rest against hers. “Will you tell me, when you feel it?” he asked her almost shyly, and she nodded at once.

“Of course I will,” she promised him, and he pressed another kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and she knew from his tone that he was thanking her for more than her assurance that she would tell him. She could think of no more words, and so she just settled for taking hold of his hand and moving to lay on her stomach. His smile made his eyes light up almost boyishly, and tears of happiness were stinging at her eyes in response.

“Don’t think I don’t want this,” she whispered, “I swear, I am proud to be carrying your child, Robb.”

* * *

Over the next days the confirmation that she was indeed expecting a child was better sinking into Myrcella. It was hard to worry about everything that could potentially go wrong when she saw just how happy the news had made Robb. He was in such good cheer that she was afraid that those closest to him might begin to get suspicious. Thankfully no one had said a word, and she could only imagine that they assumed him happy because he had returned home. That was what made Myrcella happiest of all. Knowing that he was home, and would now be here for the duration of the winter, no matter what word came from outside. There would be no question of him leaving now. While the snows were not yet impassable, they soon would be, and the temperatures were far too cold to be exposed to the elements at night.

No. He would be here now until spring decided to rear its head. Meaning it was more than likely that he would be here with her until the baby came, all being well. She was glad of that. Glad that he would be here to see her grow and change, to reassure her when all her fears came bubbling up to the surface again. They still resided within her. She was still afraid that she would never feel the child stir. That she would bleed. She was afraid that even if she didn’t, that the precious little thing would be snatched from her by winter’s cruel hands. Myrcella knew the stories. She knew that mother’s would smother their babies in their cradles rather than have them starve or freeze to death. Robb had told her to put that from her mind, that those were stories of desperate smallfolk trapped away from any great settlement.

It would not be like that for them, that’s what he promised her. Winterfell would always be warm inside, no matter how deep the snows fell, or how low the temperatures dropped. It was hard not to believe him when he was curled around her under their mountain of furs. His breath was warm on the back of her shoulder as he continued to sleep soundly. Dawn hadn’t come yet, though it seemed to come later and later each day. The sun would never be up for long any more, and even when it was up it was weak. Rarely did it break through the near constant cloud. It could never be described as shining brightly any more, all it served to do was cast a dim half-light over Winterfell for a few hours each day.

Robb shifted a little in his sleep, the arm that was draped carelessly across her hip tightening a little. She pressed herself further back against him at the movement, shuffling herself down under the furs until she was leaning against his chest, her head tucked under his chin. He murmured in half-sleep, his hand slipping over her waist and splaying across her stomach. It was there it came to rest often now, such a softness in his eyes that it was a wonder to behold. Seeing it made it hard to believe that he was the same man who had once confessed to her that he was unsure if he had it in him to love their children. Robb loved his child already. She could see it in his eyes. He was desperate for this. Both he and the North had been waiting a long time for an heir. For over eight years he had been King, eight years of waiting for her and waiting for an heir.

Gods, she hoped it would all come good, her own hand coming to lay across his as he let out a shuddering breath and a groan. She couldn’t help but smile at his clear reluctance to wake up. Robb was usually the first to wake, and didn’t protest all that much about leaving the warmth of their bed. Since he had returned from Long Lake though, he had been far more reluctant to slip from beneath the furs in the morning. Not that she could blame him. If she had had to spend that long out in the open then she would likely have missed a real bed more than anything else too. Robb huffed in the next moment, before he somehow curled himself more closely around her, burying his head in the crook of her neck.

“Morning, husband,” she said in an amused tone as he nuzzled against her for a moment.

“Morning, wife,” he returned, his voice thick with sleep but still laced with slight amusement. “How long have you been awake?” he asked her groggily, and she shrugged her shoulder.

“A little while, I suppose,” she answered him, and he hummed, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before he rolled away to stretch himself properly awake. She rolled onto her own back, turning her head so she could contemplate him, seeing his eyes still clouded with sleep.

“You have been a lazy husband these past days,” she told him teasingly, and he grinned, turning his head towards her and blinking slowly.

“I think you mean, you have been too irresistible to tear myself away from,” he corrected her, and she couldn’t help but giggle. “I’ve missed that,” he told her seriously, rolling onto his side and looking down on her. “Are you feeling better?” he asked, his eyes searching her features.

“I am,” she confirmed to him, “I do not think my fears will ever truly disappear, but I am far happier now.”

“Good,” he said, holding her eyes for a long moment before he bent his head down to kiss her. She kissed him back gladly, her hand moving up to trail along the arm he was using to prop himself up, as his own hand wound its way into her hair. He pulled back too soon, and she huffed in irritation, to which he merely grinned once more. “You are the one who pointed out how lazy I’ve been, now you don’t want me to get out of bed?” he quirked his brow and she bit down on her bottom lip.

“Just stay a little longer,” she used her most persuasive tone, holding his eyes and hoping he would snuggle back down with her.

“Fine,” he tried to sound exasperated, but she could hear the amusement in his tone as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest.

His lips found her forehead as she nestled herself against him, savouring the soft warmth of his close proximity. All the furs in the world could never compare to Robb. Myrcella believed that she could sleep under the thinnest blankets and still be warm so long as she was secured in his arms. Slowly she traced her fingers over the scars left by the dragon’s talons, running them along each smooth, white line. Robb exhaled deeply as she progressed, his own fingertips whispering down her back before he began to curl a lock of her hair around his fingers. “Do you think anyone would miss us if we stayed up here all day?” she asked him with a sigh.

“And what would we do up here all day?” he asked her in a rather suggestive manner, which had her smiling at once.

“Whatever we pleased,” she answered him, shifting a little closer and pressing a kiss to his scarred shoulder.

“Hmm, it is tempting,” Robb’s voice was laced with satisfaction, “but I have yet to see the accounts since I returned, and I promised the steward I would give them my full attention. Not to mention, you need to eat, and I cannot imagine you lasting a whole day without any of your warm, spiced milk.”

She giggled again at that. Robb was right, she did not think she would manage the day without her milk. She could only imagine that it was the baby that had increased her appetite for it. The Maester had thought it likely too when she had asked him about it. Robb mentioning food had also drawn her attention to the fact that her stomach was on the verge of snarling in protest. She groaned, and Robb kissed the top of her head in response. “Hungry?” he asked her knowingly, and she nodded against him, earning another kiss.

“I could have them bring breakfast to you,” he murmured, “that way you will not have to worry about reacting badly to the bacon again. If you come over ill in front of the others they will start to ask questions, and you know what my mother is like.”

“That’s likely a good idea,” Myrcella agreed with him. Since that morning they had dined up here together, and thankfully none of the family had thought it strange. “I cannot dine up here forever though,” she grumbled, “they will notice eventually and start asking questions.” Robb hummed his agreement, his hands smoothing through her hair.

“No doubt,” he spoke after a few moments, “though, if I ban bacon from the breakfast table then Arya is going to be an absolute nightmare. Awkward questions will be the least of my worries, believe me.”


	25. XXII: Invisible Scares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! New chapter for you all, thanks so much for all the kudos -you're amazing.
> 
> Thanks too, to thistal, for reading all in one go - hope you carry on enjoying!
> 
> And, KingintheNorth (great name!) thanks to you too, I'm afraid you'll have to be patient just a little longer to find out what Jaime is up to!
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoy this new one!
> 
> :)

 

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

If he had ever been happier, he could not remember it. Despite the winter settling in around them and the temperatures constantly freezing, he had never felt warmer. Though there were things for him to worry about every day, when he was up here in this chamber with her, he could easily forget it all. The burdens of kingship all just fell away from him as soon as he stepped through the door. His wife stayed up here more often than not now, sewing and reading to occupy herself. She felt the cold more than the others, even more so than his mother. Even just walking down to the entrance hall would have her shivering. Whenever she did venture down for dinner he would have to ensure that she was well wrapped up in a cloak and furs.

At first it had worried him, but the Maester had come to check on her and assured him that she was in perfect health. Both her and the baby. He smiled widely as ever he did when he thought of the new life growing inside her. Even the dull task of looking over the accounts could not dampen his high spirits. The coffers were looking healthy from what he had seen so far anyway, and he reclined back in his chair, exhaling deeply in satisfaction. It had been nearly a moon since he had returned home from dispatching the deserter, and despite the worsening weather, everything seemed to be running well around him. Personally, he did not think he could ask for any more.

Behind him he heard Myrcella begin to stir, and he turned in his chair slightly so he could watch her rouse from her sleep. He had already laid his robe out on the side of the bed he had vacated, just ready for her to slip herself into when she woke. She opened her eyes in the next moment, her hands coming to them to rub the sleep from them. He smiled at her when she noticed him, and she returned the gesture lazily before stretching herself out. “Morning, you,” he said softly.

“Hard at work again?” she asked him, stifling a yawn, and he hummed his agreement.

“A King’s work is never done,” he said teasingly, turning his eyes back to the accounts ledger he had been reading through. He could hear Myrcella shuffling behind him, no doubt getting herself up and out of bed. “Do you need anything?” he asked her absently.

“I’m fine,” she responded. “Did I miss breakfast?”

“Yes, but I left you plenty,” he answered her, and she thanked him. A moment later he heard the pull of a chair against the floor, and he could only assume she had settled herself at the table to eat. Despite often feeling nauseous during the morning hours she still had a healthy appetite, and he was glad of it. It was even more important for her to keep her strength up now she was with child, especially with it expected to be a winter baby.

He reached the end of the month in the next moment, dipping his quill into the ink pot before signing the bottom of the ledger so Beron would know he had cast his eye over it and been satisfied. Their coffers were healthy indeed, even with the coin he had set aside for the builders. He sighed in contentment before setting his quill aside and rising up from the desk. Myrcella smiled as he approached where she was sat breaking her fast, and he returned the gesture easily.

“Do you want me to call for anything else? More milk, perhaps?” he asked her, taking the seat opposite her as she swallowed down her mouthful.

“I’m fine, honestly,” she assured him, fixing him with a look for a moment that he could almost describe as conflicted. It had him worried at once.

“What is it?” he asked her. “There’s nothing wrong, is there?”

“No, of course not,” she soothed him at once, reaching her hand across the table to caress his. “I just,” she bit down on her lip, “I’m not certain, but I think I felt it move, the baby, I mean.”

“Truly?” his eyes brightened, and her hand squeezed his in response.

“Like I said, I’m not certain,” she said in an amused tone, “but I felt something, and I have never felt it before. So, I suppose it must be the baby.”

“What does it feel like?” he asked her curiously, and she smiled.

“Like fluttering, I suppose,” she answered him, “just so light you can barely notice it.”

“But you have noticed it,” he grinned at her, and her own smile widened as she nodded happily. “Gods, Myrcella, you have no idea how happy this is making me.”

“I think I do,” she said, her eyes finding his, “you have been full of joy for nigh on a moon now. I’m surprised no one has grown suspicious yet, the way you have been wandering around the place with such a spring in your step.”

“All thanks to you,” he said, lifting her hand gently to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“Well, you helped,” she raised a brow, and he smirked at her.

“I remember,” he said, raising his own brows slightly, “it was my utmost pleasure.”

“As it was mine,” she returned, and he pressed another kiss to the back of her hand.

“Careful,” he warned her in a teasing tone, “you have only just risen, and if you do not control that tongue of yours I shall have to demand you return to bed.”

“Well, I am your queen,” she said suggestively, “it is my duty to heed my husband’s demands.”

He was about to respond, but a knock came at the door before he could suggest that they did indeed return to bed. With a huff he regretfully let go of her hand and rose up from the table. Beron stood on the other side of the door when he opened it, and Robb raised a brow expectantly. “Is there a problem?” he asked the steward.

“Not at all, your Grace, forgive me,” he bowed his head slightly, “I have merely come to ask if I can take the accounts ledger. Your lady mother wanted to look over the expense of the household, I believe she has a few ideas to help cut some costs during the winter.”

“Very well,” Robb said, moving from the door and to the desk to pick up the ledger. “I have finished with it anyway, Beron, all was in order from what I observed. We appear to be comfortably making coin.”

“Yes, your Grace,” Beron inclined his head as Robb approached him again with the ledger. “My apologies again for disturbing you, your Grace, my queen.” He bobbed his head towards him and Myrcella in turn before backing from the room and closing the door firmly behind him.

“Well, his timing couldn’t have been any better,” Robb said drily, and Myrcella giggled as he moved back towards the desk to tidy away the quills and ink. “You have a letter here, did you forget about it?” Robb asked her as he opened the drawer and found a lion seal staring up at him.

“By the Gods, I must have done,” Myrcella scraped back her chair at once. “I put it away in case it was from my mother,” she explained as she came towards him, and he frowned. “It arrived the day I received word from you that you were coming home,” she continued, laying her hand on the small of his back, “and I didn’t want to sour my good mood, not when I know what her letters usually contain.”

Robb couldn’t help but smile at that, just at the simple fact that she had been pleased that he was coming home. “It might not be from her,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual. Talk of Cersei was never at the top of his agenda, but she was Myrcella’s mother and there would be no changing that. He had always determined never to speak ill of her family in his wife’s presence, though it was often tested when he saw just how much her mother’s wrong assumptions got to her.

“Well, it is not from Tommen as I have corresponded with him since,” Myrcella said, fingering at the seal of the letter. “I can always hope it is from my Uncle Tyrion, but I will not hold my breath. He is so busy at the Rock he barely finds time to write. Unfortunately for me it seems as though my mother has far too much time on her hands.”

“You won’t know unless you open it,” Robb said, squeezing his hand around her upper arm for a moment. She smiled faintly in response, before taking a deep breath and snapping the seal. He watched her reaction, seeing her brow furrow. “What is it?” he asked after a moment, as her frown only seemed to sink deeper into her forehead.

“I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head before raising her eyes from the parchment to meet his. “What do you suppose she means by it?” she asked him, offering him the letter. Robb took it grudgingly. He had no desire to know what Cersei Lannister meant by anything, but he could not ignore Myrcella’s confusion. His own brow furrowed as he took in the length of the letter. It was but a few lines, and he could make no more sense of them than Myrcella seemingly could.

_It will be over soon, darling. Stay strong just a little while longer. It will be over soon._

“Your marriage to me?” he raised a brow and smirked slightly. Myrcella didn’t seem to find it funny, her cheeks draining of colour as she snatched the letter back out of his hands and read the lines again. He could see her lips forming the words as she read it over and over. “Myrcella, I’m sure it’s fine,” he soothed her, rubbing his hand up and down her back. “She could mean anything by it, winter, perhaps?”

“Or perhaps you were right the first time,” she said fearfully, her knuckles white where she was holding on so tightly to the parchment. “What if she has sent someone, Robb? What if she has someone here already? Gods,” she clasped her other hand to her mouth. “What if she means to harm you? To kill you?” her voice was trembling now, her eyes shining with tears.

“Stop this,” he urged her at once, pulling her into his arms. “She cannot touch me here, even if she wanted to. Do you not think anyone passing through the gates in this weather who was unknown would not be greeted with suspicion? The guards know everyone, Myrcella, if they saw anyone suspicious they would come right to me. I know who is in my service, and I trust them all. Your mother has no way of buying any of them. Nothing is going to happen to me, I promise.”

“You don’t know what she’s like, what she’s capable of,” Myrcella said in an agonised tone, and he frowned at her.

“What do you mean?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she gabbled out, “I don’t know anything for sure, it was just whispers.”

“Whispers about what?” he pressed her.

“Whispers that she was behind my father’s death,” she confessed so quietly he had to strain to hear her. “That is wasn’t an accident at all. That she arranged for it all to happen…” She tailed off, looking utterly terrified.

“Even if that were true, it was done at the Capitol where she has people willing to do her bidding,” Robb told her calmly, “she does not have people here to do such a thing, now will you please try and calm yourself. You know what the Maester said, stress and worry is bad for the baby.” He pulled back from her slightly at that, moving his hand to rest on her stomach. There was the slightest of change in her now, the merest hint of roundness beneath his touch. She moved her hand to lay atop his, her cheeks still pale but her brow no longer creased.

“You’re right,” she finally said, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “Of course you’re right, there is no way she could hope to get to you here, not now that winter is set in again. We don’t even know that that’s what she was talking about,” she shook her head. “She could have meant anything. She could have been drunk. I’m sorry, Robb, it’s just the thought of anything happening to you. Of losing you, I -”

He cut her off with a kiss, working his lips softly with hers for a long moment. “You don’t have to apologise,” he murmured when he finally pulled back, “I know how you feel. Remember the state I was in over that stupid dream? All because I couldn’t bear the thought of you not being here with me always. We have _years_ ahead of us, many happy years. Now, forget this letter and relax,” he rubbed his hand against her stomach, “all I want is for you to be calm and rested, leave the worrying to everyone else.”

* * *

She was sewing what looked like a blanket when he returned from council. He had let himself in quietly in case she were sleeping, and so consequently she had not heard him come in. There was such a look of concentration on her face as she worked, and he stood and admired her for a long moment. She was sat by the fire, and the way the flames illuminated the golden strands of her hair was more captivating than he had words to describe. Still she hadn’t noticed him, and so he approached slowly, his hand coming to stroke down her cheek as he moved behind her chair.

Almost at once she flinched, pulling back from his touch. When her eyes met his they were wide and panicked, and he could see from the rise and fall of her chest that her heart was pounding wildly in her chest. “It’s alright,” he soothed, kneeling down at the side of her chair, “it’s just me, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I know,” she said weakly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“It’s my fault,” he said, his hand coming to rest on her knee. “I should have said something, you just looked so perfect I couldn’t resist.” She smiled in response to that, but he could still see the lingering fear in her eyes. His own eyes darted to her hands, and she could see that her left hand was clenched tightly. He moved his hand to take it, gently prising her fingers away from her palms. “I reminded you of something, didn’t I?” he raised his eyes to hers, and she nodded slowly. “I’m sorry,” he said again, rubbing his thumb firmly against the back of her hand.

“You weren’t to know,” she said, smiling for him again.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked her tentatively, and she clearly took a shuddering breath. “You don’t have to,” he said quickly, “if you would prefer not to then I understand. I’ll just make sure never to sneak up on you again.”

She laughed a little shakily at that, and he smiled, still rubbing his thumb soothingly against the back of her hand. “Would you hold me for a little while?” she asked him almost shyly, and he was nodding his agreement at once. She slipped her hand from his grasp in response, carefully setting aside her sewing before she rose up to her feet. Robb settled himself on the sofa in front of the fire, shifting himself so she could lean back against him. She moved to do just that, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her before settling his hands on her stomach. One of her own hands came to settle on one of his, the other stroking up and down his forearm. Robb exhaled in contentment, pressing a kiss to the top of her golden head.

“It was Joffrey,” she said almost in response to his action, and if it were possible he tightened his hold on her even more. He was unsurprised at her confession, but it didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

“What did he do?” he murmured against the top of her head, strands of her hair tickling against his lips as he spoke. She didn’t speak up at once, her hand gently playing with his fingers. Robb waited, unwilling to push her. He could tell this was hard for her, and he determined that he would not make it any more difficult.

“He had been bullying Tommen again,” she finally spoke up, “and I was trying to stop him, only he was worse than he usually was and he wasn’t listening to me. So, in the end I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I threw one of Tommen’s toy soldiers at him. It cut just above his eye, and I was so certain he would turn on me right away, but he didn’t. He ran away. Likely to tell mother.” Her tone was bitter, but he stayed quiet, knowing she wasn’t finished.

“I was terrified of getting into trouble so I went and hid in the library,” she continued, “I was there for hours, but I should have known Joffrey would find me in the end.” Again she paused, and Robb remained silent, waiting. “He told me that when he was King he would punish me,” her voice was trembling, “that he would send me away to marry a man who would keep me in order. He even threatened to give me to the Mountain. I should have said nothing, I should have just let him say his cruel words, but I couldn’t stop myself.”

“I told him he would not be King for years,” she went on, “I told him that father would find a good match for me, and that I would be glad to be away from him when the time came. I told him that he would be a terrible King, and that he would be despised by the people. That’s when he pulled out the knife. It was only a short thing, thin and silver. I don’t know where he got it from, but it was enough to shut me up. He put it to my cheek, and I was so terrified that I couldn’t move, couldn’t even cry out for help.”

Her voice broke a little, her nails pinching ever so slightly into the back of his hand. Again, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and she took a shuddering breath. “He said he would be King soon enough,” her voice trembled, “and that he would make sure no man would ever love me. He said that I was pretty enough now, but that no man would ever want a scarred bride. I was so sure he would cut me. That he would scar my face, but he didn’t. He put the blade away and warned me never to cross him again.”

“But you still continued to shield Tommen from him?” Robb guessed quietly, and she nodded.

“I could never have left him to Joffrey’s cruelty,” she said, shaking her head, “I would never have been able to forgive myself. Joffrey was already determined he would make me pay, so there was not much I could do to make it worse. You know, I was so certain that he had managed to keep his promise from beyond the grave when it was agreed that I would marry you. I never dreamed that you and I would ever be happy, I was so sure that Joffrey had taken his final revenge somehow.”

“I confess I imagined the same,” he said quietly, “but I swear to you now, Myrcella, your brother was wrong. He paid the price for his cruelty, and you are free of him. He can never hurt you again, I promise you.”

“I know,” she said, her voice sounding a little thick.

“You were brave standing up to him, saying what you did,” Robb told her, lacing his finger with hers.

“Stupid more like,” she snorted slightly, “they were naïve words from the mouth of a child. I was wrong, father was not king for years to come. He was dead within the month. Though at least when Joffrey was made king his attention was pulled from tormenting Tommen and I as much.”

“You weren’t stupid,” Robb soothed her, “and you were right about one thing.”

“What’s that?” she asked him curiously, and he couldn’t help but grin.

“He was a terrible king,” he answered, “despised by the people.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she giggled slightly, squeezing his hand a little.

“You know he can’t hurt you anymore,” he told her seriously, pressing his lips to the top of her head firmly. “No one can hurt you anymore, I won’t let them.”

“I know,” she whispered back to him, squeezing his hand again. “And I thank the Gods for it every day, Robb. I never imagined that we could ever be this happy. That you could ever care for me the way you do.” She slipped her hand away from him at that, and before he could respond she was turning carefully in his arms so she could prop herself up against his chest and meet his eyes.

“I thought the same,” he told her honestly, “you know I did, I have never hidden it from you. For years I kept you buried at the back of my mind, but as the time grew closer to you coming here I only grew to dread it more. I wanted anyone but you,” he shook his head, and she smiled slightly. “It’s not like that anymore,” he whispered, lifting his hand to tuck a lock of her hair back behind her ear. “It has not been like that for a long time. You mean the world to me, Myrcella, don’t ever doubt that.”

“I don’t,” she responded, shaking her head slightly before holding his eyes fast once more. He knew she had her mother’s eyes. Knew that everything about her appearance was pure Lannister. Inside though, inside she could not be more different. She was soft and warm, and did not have a conniving or cruel bone in her body. Her eyes may be the shade of her mother’s, the very same shape and size, but they held a warmth within them that Cersei Lannister could never hope to have.

“I love you,” he told her quietly before he could second guess himself. Her eyes widened in response, a completely disbelieving look on her face. She pushed herself up further against his chest so that she could look down on him. He held his eyes on her face, silently begging for her to believe him. Somehow he knew it must have been hard for her to hear the words. Somehow he imagined that they had not been uttered to her many times in her life. That clenched his heart hard. A woman like Myrcella should only be adored, never hurt or shamed the way she had been at the Capitol. Nor dreaded and dismissed as she had been by him at the beginning. He would never dismiss her again, he promised himself that as he looked into her disbelieving eyes.

“Truly?” she asked him, and he nodded his confirmation. She smiled then, but it was a smile that seemed almost tinged with sadness. It was a smile that had him wanting to pull her into his arms and never let go ever again. “Oh, Robb,” her eyes were shining, “I’m not sure I have ever been sure what that truly meant.”

“It means losing you would kill me,” he told her, “it means you have made my life better just by being in it. You make every day better, Myrcella. I adore you. I adore simply being in your presence. I love the way you laugh, the way you smile, the way you raise one brow at me when you read my baser intentions all too easily. I _need_ you. Your kiss. Your touch. Everything. That’s what it means, Myrcella. That’s what loving you means to me.”

“If that’s what it means,” she whispered, her hands coming to cup around his cheeks. “If that is truly what it means, then I know beyond all doubt that I feel the same for you, Robb. I love you too.”


	26. XXIII: Unwelcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to have kept you waiting with this one folks, been a busy time in reality for me!
> 
> Anyway, I want to thank you all for your lovely comments - I'm up to 100, yay! I still can't believe how much people are enjoying this, and I appreciate the encouragement so much. I'm glad you all enjoyed the declaration of love, or seemed to anyway! Hope you enjoy this new chapter.
> 
> Also, thank you everyone for the kudos, it's so wonderful of you and I can't believe I have nearly 700! Just, wow!
> 
> Right, I will shut up now and let you get on. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> :)

 

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

 

He told her every day now. Each and every day, and each time it still sounded like magic. It still seemed as though she was living in some kind of dream. Robb _loved_ her, truly loved her. Loved her in a way she had never imagined nor ever hoped to understand. It was overwhelming, but it felt so wonderful, like a fire had been lit in her heart that refused to go out. Love was something she shared with Tommen, a fierce need to protect him set deep inside her. Love was something she had always felt she should feel for her mother. Love was what her mother claimed to feel for her.

Myrcella knew that this was different though. What she shared with Robb was something so difficult to put into words that she was prone to giving herself a headache if she thought too hard about it. In the end she had given up trying to work it out. She just accepted it, and returning his words was now as easy to her as breathing. Her skin seemed etched with the words that he would murmur to her, as though every touch of his hand imprinted that simplest of phrases into her skin. There was not a mark on her, but Myrcella could feel it inside. It was burning, and it felt so good.

Everything. Everything that she had once imagined could never be hers was now at her fingertips. A husband who adored her, and his child swelling her stomach. It was almost obvious now, and she felt the baby move inside her every day. Robb wondered over the changes in her, keeping his hand pressed against her stomach as they waited for sleep to claim them, just waiting for the day when he would feel it too. He was desperate for it, and she herself could not wait. She was longing to see the look in his eyes, his eyes that had seemed to shine that much brighter since she had confirmed her pregnancy to him. He had waited so long. All she could do was pray that everything would progress as it should.

She believed that her baby was strong, and the Maester assured her of a healthy heartbeat each time he came to examine her. At her request he came once a week, and he always assured her that everything was just fine. That was always enough to placate her until his next visit. She knew Robb thought her overcautious, but he never said a word in protest. It was something she felt she _needed_ to do. She had no control over the changes the baby was making to her, and no control over how well her pregnancy would progress. Seeing the Maester was one thing that could calm her beyond all else. That and the insistent movement within her.

She felt it strongly as the door to their chambers opened, smiling at once as Robb walked through the door. He smiled back widely, closing the door behind him before coming towards her and claiming her lips for a long moment. “Would you come to dinner tonight?” he asked her. “I think it high time we announce our news.” Myrcella bit her lip at that. Since her sickness had begun to abate she attended more meals in the hall, but the thought of all eyes on her as Robb announced her pregnancy made her feel more than a little ill.

“If you’re sure,” she said, unable to think of any reasonable reason for him not to announce it. The child was strong and healthy, and her stomach was growing rounder now. If he did not announce it soon then everyone would work it out for themselves. The only reason they likely hadn’t already was because she was so often draped in thick furs. They kept her deliciously warm, and hid her condition from prying eyes, something which she had been most grateful for.

“I know you’re nervous,” he met her eyes, smiling knowingly, “but this is a ­ _good_ thing, Myrcella. The people will be thrilled, they want this almost as much as you and I do.” She returned his smile, the excitement in his voice was undeniable.

“Alright,” she nodded her head, and his smile widened. “You can announce it, I know you have been dying to for the past few weeks.” He leant in to kiss her again at her words, and she slipped her hand up to run through his hair, twisting his curls around her fingers. Too soon he pulled away, and she made a slightly irritable sound which had him chuckling.

“Is it my imagination, or are you becoming more insatiable by the day, my queen?” he asked her with a quirk of his brow and she couldn’t help but smile widely. She could feel that a slight blush had risen up on her cheeks. It was true, it seemed all she could think about at the moment was Robb bedding her. He was usually more than compliant, so she could not complain.

“I can’t help it, I get so bored up here, and I miss you when you’re gone,” she pouted at him, twisting her finger around the lacings of his doublet. He raised a brow at that, smirking slightly.

“Nice try,” he said, pulling away from her, “you know damn well I have to go to council. Beron is insistent that we discuss rations now that the Kings Road is well and truly blocked to wagons.” Myrcella couldn’t help but huff in response, though Robb seemed unconcerned, moving towards his desk and shuffling a few papers around. He seemed to find what he was looking for after a while, gathering them up before approaching her once more. “You could always venture outside for a while,” he raised a brow, “fresh air will do you and the baby some good. Just watch yourself on the snow.”

“I will,” she promised him easily, “perhaps I will take a walk out to the Sept, I haven’t visited for a long while. I ought to thank the Gods for my good fortune.”

“ _Our_ good fortune,” he corrected her, placing his hand atop her stomach before leaning in to peck at her lips.

“Of course, husband,” she replied teasingly when he pulled back again, rolling her eyes slightly.

“Don’t pray too long, remember we have a feast to attend tonight,” he told her pointedly.

“I know,” she sighed, rolling her eyes again. He only grinned in response, before kissing her again.

“I love you,” he murmured against her lips when he pulled back.

“I love you,” she returned, and he pressed one more kiss to her lips before moving away.

“I’m off to council before you ensnare me,” he said as he moved to the door, “be careful out there, and don’t be late for dinner.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” she waved him away and he shot one more wide smile at her before disappearing through the door, closing it firmly behind him. She slumped back against the cushions when he had gone, resting her hands on her stomach before sighing in contentment. She was still not overly keen on the idea of telling everyone that she was with child, but Robb was set on it and she couldn’t deny or disappoint him. Especially since she had no good reason to. She would just have to grin and bear it, and hope that the whispers were not too loud. At least she had the comfort of knowing that the rest of the Starks would likely be thrilled. That brought a smile to her face as she rose up from her chair and moved to gather her warmest cloak and furs for the journey to the Sept.

* * *

It was warmer in the Sept, with the braziers burning brightly along each wall, so Myrcella discarded her furs, leaving them draped across one of the benches as she made her way to the altar. She lowered herself to her knees before the Mother, knowing she ought to give thanks to her above all others, and pray to her for continued good fortune. It was only a few minutes before she felt a light breeze against her back telling her that someone else had entered the Sept. She could only imagine that it was Lady Stark, her good-mother seemed the only other person to ever enter the space.

“I was beginning to think you would never emerge.” She snapped her head around at the voice, her breath deserting her. He was stood, hooded, half way between her and the door. Somehow she struggled to her feet, backing almost into the altar as he pulled his hood down. It was relief and terror in equal measure.

“What in the name of the Gods are you doing here?” she whispered. “If Robb sees you, if _anyone_ sees you! Are you mad? You do know what will happen, don’t you? What agreement was made?!”

“Agreement that if I ever stepped foot in the North or the Riverlands that I would be a dead man, I remember,” her uncle sounded irritatingly calm, and she shook her head incredulously at him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him again. “Did mother send you?”

“She thinks she did,” Jaime smirked slightly, and Myrcella made an irritated noise in response. Her uncle seemed to think that this was funny. Did he seriously think that Robb would not take his head? Myrcella knew he would, unless Jaime had a damn good reason for being here.

“Why are you here?” she demanded through gritted teeth, and for the first time his expression became serious.

“I’m here to warn you, Myrcella,” he told her, “but first you have to promise me that you’re happy here. Promise me that the words I’ve seen from you are true.”

“I have only ever written the truth, I am happy here,” she met his eyes as she said it.

“Could be warmer though, couldn’t it?” he raised a brow, and she couldn’t help the half smile that twitched at one corner of her mouth.

“You’re not funny,” she responded.

“Best leave the japes to Tyrion,” he smiled, and she finally smiled back at him.

“What are you here to warn me about?” she asked him, and again his expression became serious. It was so serious it had her heart pounding in her chest. Jaime came closer to her, looking as though he were struggling to find the right words. “Uncle Jaime, what is it?” she asked him, fear starting to creep into her now. “You’re starting to really worry me.”

“Myrcella!” Robb’s clearly exasperated call was accompanied by the opening and closing of the Sept door, and Myrcella closed her eyes in despair. Jaime turned his head, and she cringed at the look that came across the face of her approaching husband. On instinct she took several steps forward until she was stood between the two men. Robb looked murderous, and for the first time she could imagine him in battle. She could imagine him killing. “What is _he_ doing here?” he practically spat the words.

“I don’t -” Myrcella started, but he cut her off at once.

“Forget it,” he snapped, looking passed her and towards her uncle. “I don’t care why he’s here, but now that he is… You remember the treaty, Kingslayer? You remember the conditions?”

“I do,” Jaime said calmly, “now why don’t you ask yourself why I would risk my life to travel to Winterfell in the midst of winter. Why would I do that, unless it was of utmost necessity and importance?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Robb said shortly, “all I care about it that your head will adorn the gatehouse on the morrow.”

“Robb,” Myrcella finally found her voice, shaking her head as she stepped closer to him. She reached out to clasp her hands around his upper arms, feeling his tension that did not abate despite her touch. “He says he has come to warn us,” she continued. “I know he ought not to be here, but please, won’t you just hear him, for me? Please, Robb.”

He stared at her for what felt like an eternity, and she kept her eyes on his, willing him with everything to soften just a little. She squeezed her hands just a little more tightly around his upper arms and he finally blinked. His expression was still hard, but there was an underlying reluctance shining from him. “Fine,” he growled, confirming her assumption. “Speak quickly, my patience has already been worn thin,” he directed towards her uncle, and Myrcella finally felt safe to let go of Robb’s arms.

“My sister is intent on seeing you dead, Sta-, your Grace,” Jaime corrected himself quickly as Myrcella shot him a warning look. “And she believes she has sent me to do it,” he continued, “and believe me, I had every intention of granting her wish.”

Myrcella gasped at that, but her uncle continued before she could say a word in protest.

“However, that was before I learned the truth,” Jaime went on, “before I found the true letters from Myrcella that she thought she had well hidden. I know you’re happy here, Myrcella,” he turned his attention to her now, “and after all that your life before now has brought you, you deserve to keep this happiness for the rest of your days. Somehow, I think cutting short the life of your husband would have rather the opposite effect.”

“You assume you could even take me,” Robb snarled, and Myrcella blindly moved her hand back to find one of his, her eyes still fixed on her uncle.

“Mother sent you to kill Robb?” she asked him, her voice trembling slightly.

“She believes she did, but I came to warn you,” he said insistently.

“A raven would have sufficed,” Robb muttered darkly.

“A raven could have been easily lost in this winter,” Jaime returned. “I thought you might at least be a little grateful, Stark. Do you really think my sister is going to take well to me failing to kill you? She will find another to do her bidding, then another, then another, until she gets what she wants.”

“Then you have to make her stop!” Myrcella clenched her fists together. “You have to make her see sense! What does she hope to achieve by murdering my husband?!”

“She hopes it will get you home,” Jaime shrugged.

“I will never go back there,” Myrcella snapped, “this is my _home_ , this is more home to me than that place ever was. I am _safe_ here. Even if she were to take Robb from me I would stay, I would stay to raise our child at Winterfell. No, more than that, I would stay to raise the North and the Riverlands against her.”

“Against Tommen, you mean,” her uncle’s tone was almost warning.

“No, never against Tommen,” she shook her head, “but I would make it so she was punished. I would not stop until she paid for what she had done. You go back to the Capitol, and you tell her that. You tell her, that if anything befalls my husband then I will never forgive her. That I will _never_ stop until she is burning in the seven hells!”

Her voice broke at the end, and Robb’s arms enclosed around her, pulling her back against his chest as she tried to take calming breaths. She didn’t want to break down and cry here, not when she needed to appear strong in her conviction, but the thought of being without Robb. A strangled gasp left her, and he pulled her even more tightly into his embrace.

“I cannot promise she will hear me, Myrcella,” her uncle said, evident regret shining in his eyes.

“Make her,” Myrcella snapped back, and he sighed, before nodding ever so slightly.

“Does she know about the child?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“And you will not tell her,” she told him warningly, and again he inclined his head.

“You leave tonight,” Robb snarled, his hold on her almost painfully tight. “If you are still here come morning then I will have your head. If you are recognised and brought before me, I will have your head. I will have no choice, my lords would not allow me to let you go if they heard but a whisper that you were here. So keep your presence unknown, Kingslayer, and be gone before dawn breaks.”

“Very gracious of you,” Jaime said drily, and she frowned at him.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Robb spat, before loosening his hold on her and moving to gather up her furs. She could say nothing as he moved to drape them around her shoulders once more, the look in his eyes almost unrecognisable as she briefly met them. Part of her wanted to thank him, but she was more than a little wary of what his reaction might be. “We need to go,” his tone was slightly stiff, “we are late for dinner as it is.”

Myrcella nodded mutely at that, her eyes finding her uncle’s for a moment. He inclined his head the slightest fraction, and she allowed the tiniest of smiles to grace her lips before allowing Robb to usher her away. “Robb?” she tried in a tiny voice as they made their way to the door of the Sept.

“Not now,” he returned, and she bowed her head in response, obediently leaving the Sept first at his invitation. The slam of the door behind them was rather ominous, though she did take comfort from his hand on the small of her back as they carefully made their way across the courtyard back to the keep. She was slightly more hopeful now that he was not too angry with her.

Perhaps announcing her pregnancy would cheer him before they retired for the night. She could only hope it would, she hated it when Robb was angry, especially when his temper was aimed towards her. It had only happened once, but she had promised herself to never let it happen again. Though she could not see how she could have avoided what had happened in the Sept. It wasn’t as though she had known her uncle was coming. As though she had invited him. Robb had to see that, surely?

The guards bowed them through the main doors, shutting them immediately behind them. Robb kept his hand on the small of her back as they walked through into the dining hall. Myrcella self-consciously pulled her furs more tightly around her as they made their way towards the high table. She breathed in the scents of the dinner that was being set down around them, thankfully not smelling anything that set her stomach churning. It was rare that she was sick now, but she was still wary of it, especially when pork or bacon was set out. Now it seemed that it was only wine she balked at, and even Robb declined it more often than not so that she would not taste it on him when he kissed her.

It seemed he would indulge tonight though, pulling a flagon towards him as soon as they had settled themselves at the table. Myrcella could see Lady Stark frowning slightly as Robb drained half his cup of wine in one go. She inwardly prayed that he would say nothing of Jaime being here. The Starks were kindly, but she knew damn well that all of them had good reason to want her uncle dead. She only needed to look down the table where Bran was sat to remember all too well. Bran turned his head as though he had sensed her eyes on him, a smile coming to his face in greeting. She returned his smile, hoping it did not look as strained as she felt.

Robb placed his empty cup down in the next moment, before he rose up to his feet. Myrcella’s heart skipped slightly, her stomach clenching. She had been expecting them to eat their meal first, but it seemed that Robb had other ideas. Those present in the dining hall all seemed to turn their attention to him as they stood up, all heads all eventually turning in his direction. Myrcella swallowed hard.

“People of Winterfell,” Robb’s voice carried effortlessly through the large space. He held his hand out towards her then, and she placed hers in his before rising up to her own feet. As she rose up she noticed the knowing little smile playing about Lady Stark’s lips. Perhaps she had not been hiding her condition as well as she had thought. Unless Robb had given in and told her. She doubted it though, likely her good-mother had just guessed. “It is my great pleasure to announce to you that the queen and I are expecting a child,” Robb continued, and she held her breath.

“So,” he was smiling widely as she peeked up at him, “I implore you all to raise your cups, and drink deeply to a new heir to the North, and your queen!”

“The queen!” the cry was louder than she expected, so much so that she almost jumped. But she couldn’t help but smile at seeing real, genuine smiles on the faces of many around the hall. The eyes that were on her seemed softer than usual, and there were but a few people dotted around that were whispering behind their hands. Robb squeezed her hand, and she looked from the people to him. Whatever anger he was feeling over Jaime had clearly abated – for the time being at least – and he was smiling down on her, his eyes radiating happiness.

“I told you they would be thrilled,” he murmured to her as they dropped back into their seats. Lady Stark’s hand found the back of Robb’s for a moment before she leaned further across him so she could grasp Myrcella’s.

“Congratulations,” her good-mother said warmly, “I am so thrilled for you.”

“As if you didn’t know,” Robb chuckled, and his mother swatted him.

“I may have had an inkling,” Lady Stark admitted, and Myrcella smiled widely.

“Thank you, Lady Stark,” she said warmly.

“When will the baby come?” Rickon asked with wide eyes.

“In a little under five moons most like,” it was Robb who answered.

“You will not be joining us for any snow fights for a while yet, then,” Arya smirked.

“No,” Myrcella agreed, laughing slightly.

“You could always join me on the side lines and help me keep them in order,” Bran smiled.

“I could indeed,” she agreed, “thank you, Bran.”

“Will it be a boy?” Rickon demanded next.

“I don’t know,” Myrcella told him, her eyes sliding to Robb, seeing him looking perfectly relaxed.

“Boy or girl, this baby is a blessing, to the whole family,” Robb said, and she couldn’t help but smile. It had worried her that Robb would be disappointed if she delivered him a daughter. She had not asked him either way, but she had heard the sincerity in his voice when he had said it didn’t matter. It was hard not to breathe a sigh of relief, and sneak her hand under the table to rest on Robb’s knee. Thankfully he turned his head and smiled at her, his own hand coming to rest on top of hers. There was such a softness in his eyes that she could almost be hopeful that there would be no more talk of her uncle tonight. Likely it was a futile hope, but right now she would bask in the happiness surrounding them, and hope that Jaime would heed Robb’s warning and leave Winterfell before dawn.

If he didn’t, she was in little doubt that Robb would have his head, and she could only guess at what horror would engulf them should that come to pass.


	27. XXIV: Rift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know it's been a while. I wish I could tell you I'm coming back to posting every week. Unfortunately, I can't. A combination of real life and certain nastiness on another site have led to me taking the decision to take a break. I have to stop for a while before I fall out of love with fan fiction. It's the last thing I want to do, and I hate leaving stories part finished, but I NEED to stop for a while. I need to get the itch back. Right now it feels more like a chore than a joy. I want it to be a joy again. I want to fall in love all over again. I know I will, it isn't the first time I've taken a break and been lured back. I will be back, and I will finish this story, just...bear with me a little, please.
> 
> Thank you all for all the kudos and the comments you've left me. You've been amazing. I hope you're all here when I get back. Hopefully I won't be long.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> :)

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

It was an almighty hammering on the door that had Robb’s eyes flying open. Myrcella shuddered awake in his arms, and he just about managed to hush her in what he hoped was a soothing manner, before clambering out of bed. Whoever was on the other side of the door was clearly impatient to get his attention as they pounded against the wood again. He threw his robe about his shoulders and marched to the door. Through the drapes he could see that it was barely dawn, so unless this visitor had important news for him that could not wait he would not be best pleased. He had already had one unwelcome visitor, he would not be relishing another. In the next moment he wrenched the door open, seeing Arya on the other side with her eyes blazing.

“Kingslayer!” she spat at him, and he raised his brows, his heart pounding. He could think of only one reason that Arya would be here at this time, this angry. Gods. If she had caught a glimpse of the Kingslayer then this would mean trouble. Robb decided to feign ignorance. He had given the Kingslayer until dawn, grudgingly, and he had done so for Myrcella, who he could hear shuffling herself out of bed behind him.

“What of him?” Robb asked impatiently. “Are you even remotely aware of the time? What are you even doing up?”

“Training,” she shot at him in an instant. “But that doesn’t matter, because I _saw_ him!”

“Who?” he frowned at her, and she glared at him.

“The Kingslayer, Robb! He’s here! He’s here at Winterfell, I swear! You need to come now!” she was practically jumping up and down on the balls of her feet, and Robb sighed heavily.

“Why would he be here, of all places?” Robb asked her, and she shrugged.

“I don’t know! Who cares, Robb! Come on!” she stamped her foot at that, and it was almost enough to make him laugh.

“Alright,” he agreed, “just give me a moment to dress myself. I will freeze out there in just a robe.”

With that he closed the door before she could throw anymore words at him. This was not good. As he turned he caught sight of Myrcella’s face. Pale. Wide-eyed. He didn’t want to be the cause of anymore tears, but if the Kingslayer was still here then he would have to pay the price. His wife had to understand that. He had told her the night before. It had been the only thing he said on the matter, not wanting to spoil the joyous mood they were both in after announcing her pregnancy. It had been hard for him to drift off to sleep though, knowing that the bastard who had crippled his brother was roaming Winterfell.

“You know what I said,” Robb said quietly, and Myrcella nodded her head. “Dawn is only just breaking,” he continued, “I will tarry as much as I can, but Arya isn’t a patient woman. Just, stay here, alright. Whatever happens, will you just stay here?”

She didn’t look happy at that request as he shed his robe and began to pull on his clothing. “Would you not let me see him?” her voice was barely a whisper. “If he is still here and you must…you must do your duty – would you not let me see him first?”

“If you see him they will talk,” Robb said briskly, loath to deny her. “You know they will.”

“That will not be anything I am not used to,” her voice rose a little, and he shook his head. “Robb, please!”

“Myrcella -”

“He is my – my…family,” she finally chose the word, and he closed his eyes in despair. He had heard the unspoken word she had wanted to utter hanging between them. Myrcella knew, just as everyone else in Westeros knew.

“You know what he did to my family, to Bran,” Robb said warningly.

“Of course I know,” she snapped, “but that doesn’t change the fact that he is of my blood. Jaime never hurt me, Robb, and he came here to warn us what my mother is planning! You said -”

“I said he could have until dawn,” Robb cut her off, “and had he any sense he would have left last night when I warned him.”

“Perhaps he has more to say,” Myrcella whispered, her eyes shining and her hands wringing together. He hated her like this. More than that, he hated that he could find no compassion for her plight. Had she been upset over anything else he would have known how to comfort her, but he himself could muster up no sympathy for her uncle. How could he when he was faced with Bran every day? It had taken so long for his brother to dine in the hall with everyone else, and the people still stared whenever he ventured out of the keep.

“Or perhaps he is pushing his luck,” Robb said coldly, “perhaps he believes I wasn’t serious.” Myrcella bowed her head at that and he had to look away from her before his resolve crumbled. He would happily see the Kingslayer dead, he meant nothing to him. Less than nothing. Myrcella though, she meant everything, and taking her uncle’s head would hurt her. He had no desire to cause her pain, but he had a duty to his lords and his people. Letting the Kingslayer go would cause uproar. He couldn’t risk that, it would do far more harm to Myrcella and his family in the long run if he did.

“I don’t like doing this to you,” he said quietly, “but things will get far worse if I ignore this. If he is gone then I won’t chase him, I will name it a figment of Arya’s imagination. She will be angry with me for a time, but it won’t be forever. But if he’s here, Myrcella, I have to take him to the cells. The lords would expect it, and so do the people. You and I both know what the treaty said, he was fool to come here, in warning or not. I’m sorry for what it’s doing to you, but I won’t change my mind.”

“I know,” she said, the two words trembling.

He wanted to cross to her and gather her in his arms, but before he could do so Arya was pounding on the door again. An almost growl left him as he moved to snatch up his cloak before making for the door. He turned to Myrcella as he went to open it, seeing her eyes fixed on him. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and he saw a single tear slip down her cheek. Forcing himself to ignore it he wrenched open the door.

“I thought you might have been a little more eager to get to him,” Arya sulked at him as he closed the door behind him, the sound echoing finality.

“Forgive me if I am a little disbelieving of your eyesight,” he muttered back, sweeping down the hallway after her. She was almost running, such was her eagerness to take him to the Kingslayer. Robb was conflicted the entire way. Part of him wanted the Kingslayer to be gone, so as not to cause any pain to his wife. The other part of him, admittedly the larger part, wanted the bastard’s head on a spike. More than anything though, he just wanted Myrcella to be able to live with what he might have to do. He fought the overwhelming urge to turn back and return to their chambers so he could gather her in his arms and try and offer some comfort.

It hurt him in ways he couldn’t describe to think about her up there in their chambers crying. _Crying for the Kingslayer, the man who set all this nightmare in motion._ Robb shook his head as he and Arya were bowed from the keep. _Crying for her father._ Another voice needled at him, and he swallowed hard, again shaking his head. He decided to focus on Arya, drawing his cloak further around him as she led him in the direction of the stables.

She cursed almost as soon as she entered, and Robb entered next, watching her stalk up and down the stalls. “Watch your tongue,” he told her as she cursed again, and she glared at him.

“He’s gone!” she sounded furious. “He can’t have got far! You need to send men out, Robb. They will catch up to him in no time, they know the land far better than him. Robb, why aren’t you calling for them?!” She stared at him pointedly, and he tried to find the right words for her. Her clear anger was slowly turning to suspicion now, he could see it in her eyes. “Why won’t you send men after him?” she asked him quietly.

“How can I be sure it was truly him?” he asked in response.

“Because _I_ saw him! I know I did!” she shot back at him, and he swallowed hard. “You knew,” her face crumpled, “you knew that he was here, didn’t you?”

“Arya -,” he started, but she had shoved passed him in the next moment, practically sprinting back towards the keep. He tore after her, but she had always been lighter on her feet than he had been. She was half way up the stairs as he half stumbled through the entrance hall, the bewildered guards hurriedly bowing him through the doors. He raced up the stairs after his sister, his heart pounding in his ears.

“Arya, stop!” he commanded her as he caught sight of her almost at his and Myrcella’s door.

“This is _her_ isn’t it?!” his sister spat, rounding on him. “Never mind that he crippled our brother! That he made it that mother had to leave! If she had never gone then none of the bad things would have happened! He destroyed our family, Robb! And you have just let him go! Let him go for that…that…” she was stammering, struggling over the word.

“Don’t say it,” Robb warned her, shaking his head.

“You know what she really is,” Arya said venomously, and his fists clenched.

“She is my wife, and she is a _Stark_ ,” he snapped.

“She will never be a Stark. She is pure Lannister,” she hissed back, her words piercing like a white hot knife in his heart.

“Get out of my sight,” he said lowly, but she didn’t move.

“Robb?” his mother’s confused, sleep-laden voice behind him. He closed his eyes in despair. This was not what he had planned for his morning. Right now he should still be curled up in bed with his wife. His wife who slipped through the door of their chambers in the next moment, with wide and uncertain eyes. He wondered if she had heard. The walls were thick, but his and Arya’s exchange had been more than a little heated.

“He had the Kingslayer here, and he let him go!” Arya accused at once, her eyes on their mother over his shoulder. He heard his mother’s sharp intake of breath, her steps coming closer.

“Keep your voice down, if word of this gets out -,” he began.

“It’s true?!” his mother was disbelieving and furious in equal measure.

“It isn’t how it sounds,” Robb tried to explain.

“It is,” Arya shot in at once. “All because of _her_ ,” she turned her attention to Myrcella, and his wife visibly flinched. “I knew you would ruin him, but I stupidly gave you a chance for my brother. I wish I hadn’t bothered. You are _just_ like your mother, using people for your own gain. You -”

“Not one more word, Arya,” Robb snarled.

“I never asked Jaime to come,” Myrcella sounded choked, and he took a half step towards her.

“But he came? He was here?!” his mother was demanding at once.

“I gave him until dawn to leave,” Robb said calmly, “I know what the treaty dictates, and I know what my lords would have wanted, but I -”

“He promised me,” Myrcella cut him off, “just this once.”

“I knew it,” Arya hissed.

“But why did he come in the first place?” his mother asked, her brow furrowed.

“He came with information from the Capitol which was of great value to me,” Robb said calmly, his eyes fixed on his mother. “It was yet another reason that I was inclined to give him the chance to leave before he was discovered by anyone else.”

“What information?” his mother asked, her eyes wide now.

“Can we discuss this later, mother? Somewhere more private, perhaps?” he raised his brows pointedly, and she nodded, clear understanding on her face.

“You cannot be serious!” Arya raged. “How can you just accept this, mother?! After everything he has done – after _Bran!_ ”

“Don’t you dare,” their mother shook her head, eyes blazing. “You can never understand what it has done to me, to see my sweet boy like that. Even now, to see him, to think of all the things he could have done. All the things that he _wanted_ to do, that he now cannot. But Bran is not vengeful, he does not lust for the Kingslayer’s head on a spike, and he would not wish for you to speak to Myrcella in such a way. I do not believe that Robb would have let him go without good reason, and I accept his decision as King. You apologise, Arya, to your brother and to his wife, and you apologise _now_.”

“No,” Arya said defiantly. “He is being an idiot, and _she_ will be the ruin of this family, you mark my words.”

“Consider them marked,” Robb snapped, and she shot him a look of pure loathing before turning on her heel and pounding down the hallway.

"Arya Stark! You come back here, right now!” their mother called after her, but she didn’t pause.

“Just let her go,” Robb muttered.

“You _will_ explain everything to me later,” his mother met his eyes, her tone warning. “Do not make the mistake of thinking I am happy about this, Robb. Arya spoke too much out of turn, but I understand her anger well enough. I want to know _everything,_ and don’t even think of coddling me.”

“Come to father’s study after you have broken your fast,” Robb said heavily, and she nodded curtly.

“I’m sorry, Lady Stark,” Myrcella spoke up in a tiny voice, and her eyes softened.

“I don’t blame you, Myrcella,” his mother assured her, placing her hand on her shoulder for a moment before fixing Robb with one more warning look. With that she turned and made her way back towards her own chambers, and Robb breathed a sigh of relief. Gods, he hated confrontation, which was ridiculous considering how many battles he had fought. _Give me the dragon any day._

“Robb, I’m sorry,” Myrcella was clearly on the verge of tears, and he turned to her. “I should never have spoken up for him, I’m sorry.”

“There is no changing it,” he said, “just as there is no changing what happened to Bran.” He moved closer to her and cupped her face in his hands, gently encouraging her chin to tilt upwards so he could meet her shining eyes. “Just as there is no changing the fact that I love you.”

* * *

Robb was irritable as he stamped his way towards his father’s study. Anyone he came across seemed to shrink back from him, bowing or curtseying lowly and keeping their eyes fixed firmly on the floor. Usually he made sure to make eye contact with them and offer a smile or an inclination of the head. Whenever he didn’t though, they seemed to instinctively know to get out of his way. He was still furious. With Arya. With the Kingslayer. With himself. Part of him wished he had just had the Kingslayer taken to the cells the night before. Then he remembered Myrcella’s face, and his feelings got all muddled and confused.

He took a breath as he came upon the door of the study, before letting himself in. It wasn’t a surprise to see his mother already present. She was leaning against the desk, facing the door, her face pale and a cup of wine in her hand that appeared to be shaking slightly. He inclined his head to her before moving to pour a cup of his own.

“Would you explain, please, Robb?” his mother asked him quietly, though he could hear the underlying fury in her voice. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking how best to phrase it without panicking her. Myrcella was already beside herself, driving herself mad thinking of all the ways that her mother might try and get to him. He had tried over and over to get her to stop, to calm herself for her own sake and the sake of their baby, but still she continued to fret.

“As I said before, he brought some information from the Capitol that was valuable to me,” Robb told her calmly, taking a sip of his wine before turning to face her. He was unsurprised to see that she was frowning.

“So valuable that it could not be trusted with a raven?” she asked with a raised brow, and he nodded his confirmation. “Won’t you just tell me, Robb?” her eyes were almost pleading. “You’re beginning to scare me, what did he tell you?”

“He told me that Cersei Lannister is plotting my death,” Robb told her, trying his best to keep his tone even. It would do no good to let on how shaken he was by the news. Whatever he had told Myrcella, he was worried about what lengths her mother would go to, to be rid of him. He had already increased the presence of guards in the keep, and kept Grey Wind closer than usual. Next he would have to make sure that all newcomers to Winterfell were treated with suspicion, and searched. He didn’t like to do it, but right now he felt as though he had no other choice.

“Why would she do that?” his mother’s trembling voice pulled him away from his thoughts.

“Revenge?” Robb shrugged. “I cannot begin to understand her motives. From what I can gather, she is doing this under the delusional belief that I am mistreating Myrcella.”

“But, that’s ridiculous!” his mother protested.

“You don’t have to tell me that,” he said wryly, taking another drink of wine. “Myrcella has told her countless times that she is happy here, but she will not have it. It was another reason I let the Kingslayer go. Perhaps he is the only one who can talk sense into the mad bitch.”

“Perhaps,” his mother agreed, though she did not sound convinced. Nor did she chastise him for his language, which was very unlike her. From that Robb knew well enough that she was worried. More worried than she was allowing herself to show to him.

“I have increased the guard,” he said briskly. Perhaps if he made her believe that he was not worried, she would be somewhat placated. “All newcomers will be searched for concealed weapons and poisons. I trust the people, I know they would come to me if there were anyone suspicious. You know what Northmen are like.” He tried a jape, she didn’t smile.

“After everything we have been through already,” she shook her head, her voice breaking slightly. “Was I foolish to believe that it was over? That we could finally be happy? I thought this was it for our family, finally a chance to truly try and lay the past to rest. Now…this…”

“We are happy,” Robb said firmly, trying not to think about how ridiculous that statement sounded given his confrontation with Arya earlier. His mother didn’t look convinced.

“You need to speak to Arya, Robb,” she said, “she needs to understand why you let him go. If you do not then she will only go on blaming Myrcella, and that poor girl must have enough worries plaguing her. I assume she knows about this, what her mother is doing?”

“She does,” Robb confirmed.

“Just when she and Arya were beginning to get along,” his mother fumed, and he nodded slightly in agreement before taking another drink.

“I’ll speak to her,” he promised his mother, “but I’m not sure if I can stomach it today.”

“Will you and Myrcella be dining alone again?” his mother asked him sharply.

“Most likely, why?” he frowned.

“Do you not think that would be the perfect opportunity for someone to strike?” she demanded, eyes wide. “When it is just the two of you. What if the servant has a hidden blade, or something is slipped into your meal?!”

“Mother, calm yourself,” Robb stepped towards her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Whatever Cersei is planning, I do not think it will be poison. It is too dangerous, she would be risking Myrcella as well. How would anyone know what either of us would eat?”

“I suppose,” his mother nodded, looking somewhat placated. “But it is no secret that Myrcella no longer touches wine, what if -”

“Would it please you if I declined to indulge?” Robb cut her off, and she frowned.

“This is serious, Robb,” she told him, meeting his eyes.

“I know that,” he admitted, “but you know I cannot show Myrcella that I’m worried. She is in turmoil as it is, and the last thing I need is for her to worry herself sick.”

“I know,” she agreed, “just promise me you will do all you can to keep yourself safe.”

“You know I always carry my sword,” he said, “and if it will please you, I will wear mail. As I have already told you, I have increased the guard, and Grey Wind is prowling the hallway out there.”

“And how long are you expected to live like this?! How long are we all expected to live like this?! By the Gods, Robb, if I ever get my hands on Cersei Lannister…” she trailed off, her fists clenching by her sides. “Perhaps you ought to write to Tommen, Tywin, even!”

“And have them know I am afraid an assassin could infiltrate Winterfell? I don’t think so, it might give Tywin ideas of his own,” Robb said darkly.

“He wouldn’t,” his mother said firmly, “I am no more fond of the man than you are, but he respects you, Robb. That much has always been obvious.”

“And how much do you suppose he will respect me when I tell him I am afraid of his deranged daughter?” Robb asked wryly, and she huffed in response. “I will continue to be careful, and I will hope that the Kingslayer talks some sense into her.”

“And if he doesn’t?” his mother asked pointedly.

“Well, then perhaps I will have to consider an alternative,” he said grudgingly. “But for now, mother, will you just try not to worry, I have enough on my hands already trying to keep Myrcella calm. All this cannot be good for her, nor the baby.”

“Babies are more resilient than you think, especially Stark ones,” she almost smiled.

“I hope you’re right,” he said with a sigh.

“Look at little Bethany, born in the depths of winter, and a hardier, healthier little girl you would be hard pushed to find,” his mother really did smile this time.

“Thank you,” he returned the gesture.

“I understand that not all the fears are Myrcella’s,” she said knowingly, “just have a little faith, Robb. And do not be afraid to speak to your mother.” She patted his cheek affectionately, and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“I am a man grown and yet you still manage to make me feel as though I only have five name days,” he said amusedly, and she laughed lightly.

“It is a mother’s gift,” she said simply, and he smiled. “Promise me you will come to me, if it all gets too much?”

“I promise,” he assured her, and she finally looked satisfied.

“Good,” she said simply.

“We’ll get through this, mother,” he met her eyes once more, “I’ve fought too hard to keep this family safe and together to let it all slip away from me now. I won’t let it happen. I won’t let _her_ win. I promise you that.”


	28. XXV: A Grudging Truce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> I know it's been a long, long time. I hope some people are still there wanting to know where this is going! I'm going to do my best to post as often as possible, but due to changes in my personal life I have less free time than usual. Still, I can't see me leaving it as long as it has been since the last chapter again. I'm going to try for every other week, but don't hold me to it!
> 
> Big thanks to everyone who has commented and left kudos in my absence. It is very much appreciated.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy the new chapter, and thanks again!
> 
> :)

 

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

 

Robb was tense, Myrcella could practically feel it radiating from him as he paced up and down his study. Part of her wished she had stayed in their chambers, but since Jaime’s visit she had barely been able to let her husband out of her sight for more than a moment. It had been three days since the confrontation with Arya. Her good-sister had been absent since, the only assurance that she was still within the walls of Winterfell coming from the few sightings of her that the guards had reported to Robb. Lady Stark had kept mostly to her rooms as well, which only served to heighten Myrcella’s guilt. Both Robb and his mother had assured her that she didn’t blame her, but Myrcella was not convinced by their words.

How could she not blame her?

Myrcella settled a hand on her stomach, feeling the odd fluttering sensation of the baby. It was still odd, but undeniably thrilling, feeling the movement inside her. She thought of the baby. She thought of anyone harming the baby. Of how she would feel. What it would drive her to do in retaliation. Her hand clenched slightly around the fabric of her dress. She would rip anyone limb from limb. She would gladly see them suffer and die if they brought pain to her child. Guilt flooded her again. It was her fault. Her fault that Lady Stark had been denied justice for Bran. She bit her lip, chancing another glance at Robb.

He’d promised he didn’t blame her. He still held her at night. Still kissed her. Still rested his palm on the swell of her stomach. Smiled at her. Assured her he loved her. She could feel it though. She could feel the minute distance between them that had not been there in so long. For the first time in months she could feel the issue of her family pressing a wedge between them. It hurt. It hurt more that she had no idea how to make it better again. How could she ever make it alright? How was she ever supposed to live with the burden of her mother wanting to murder her husband?

If it wasn’t so serious then she would laugh. It was ridiculous. Her mother was ridiculous. It was maddening. Frustrating beyond belief. Her hand clenched harder around the fabric of her dress, her expression hardening. If her mother were here now…

“Myrcella? Are you alright? The baby?” Robb’s tone was laced with ill-disguised worry, and she looked up at him. There was a trace of panic in his eyes, which seemed to dart from her face to her clenched hand. She shook her head quickly.

“The baby is fine,” she promised him easily. She could feel the slight fluttering again. He visibly relaxed, and she waited for him to resume his pacing. He didn’t. He remained stood in front of her, his gaze conflicted. She looked back evenly, though the intensity of his stare was almost enough to have her head bowing towards her lap.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, and she almost started, her eyes widening.

“Whatever for?” she asked him incredulously.

He opened his mouth to reply, but the words never came out as a sharp knock came at the door. Myrcella tensed, and she could see Robb’s back stiffen as he turned away from her and called for the visitor to come in.

Arya came in, face like stone and eyes like steely flints. Her mouth was set in a perfect line, her jaw clenched and her lips spread thin across her face. Myrcella swallowed hard. She really was wishing she had let Robb do this alone now. Arya’s eyes rested on her for a moment, and she could see the contempt all too clearly. For once she felt as though she deserved it. She should never have spoken up for Jaime. She should have let Robb do his duty. Her eyes fell to her hands, folded in her lap, as Arya’s eyes moved from her to Robb.

“Well?” Arya asked icily.

“Would you sit?” Robb asked slightly stiffly.

Myrcella kept her eyes cast down, but she heard the scrape of a chair and assumed that Arya had done as Robb had asked. Hopefully that was a good sign. A sign that she was willing to sit and hear him out at least. She held her breath, hearing the slight creak of the leather of Robb’s boots. She assumed him pacing again, likely trying to summon the right words. After a moment she sensed that he had stopped, and she slowly let out her breath.

“I know you’re angry with me,” he said quietly, and Arya snorted. “You have every right,” Robb continued, “I ought to have been honest with you when you came to me that morning. I ought to have told you that I knew about the Kingslayer, and I ought to have trusted you with the true reason I allowed him to go from Winterfell.”

“What is it?” Arya asked him. Her tone was harsh, but Myrcella could hear the slight tinge of worry.

“There is a plot,” Robb said, and she knew he was choosing his words carefully.

“What kind of plot?” the hostility was gone from Arya’s voice, replaced with suspicion now.

“A plot to end my life,” he said, and she could tell he was trying to sound carefree. It was how he had been since they had discovered the truth. Myrcella knew better. She knew he was more fearful than he made himself out to be. She knew that despite his rolling eyes that he was glad of the extra guards. Glad of the searches on what few travellers passed under the gates. She knew he held his breath each time a knock came at the door, or whenever he was approached by anyone. Myrcella hated it. She missed him being carefree. Missed his easiness. Tears welled in her eyes. Gods, this was all her fault…

“By who?” Arya finally broke the long silence that had followed Robb’s confession.

“Cersei Lannister,” he said briskly, and Myrcella could feel Arya’s eyes on her. The gaze was burning into her and eventually she could stand it no longer, raising her head to meet the eyes of her good-sister. There was something there, something she couldn’t quite find the word for.

“The Kingslayer told you?” Arya’s gaze flickered from her to Robb, though they kept darting back to her face now that Myrcella had raised her head.

“Yes,” Robb confirmed.

“Can I speak with her alone?” Arya nodded towards Myrcella, whose eyes widened momentarily.

“Why?” Robb asked suspiciously.

“I have some things to say, and I’d rather say them privately,” Arya said evenly. Robb didn’t move, and Myrcella swallowed hard. “Come on, Robb,” she continued, “what do you think I’m going to do? I might not like her, but she’s your wife, and she’s with child. I wouldn’t hurt her.”

“I know,” Robb said quickly, “I just -”

“It’s fine,” Myrcella cut him off, eyes darting from him to Arya, who nodded slightly at her.

Still Robb seemed hesitant, half turning his body so he could look between her and his sister. There was a clear conflict etched in his features. Myrcella turned her gaze on him, blinking slowly at him and trying to wordlessly convey to him that she was fine with being alone with Arya. His fingers twitched slightly, and she raised her brows slightly, her eyes flickering towards the door. A ghost of a smile flittered across his features. Gods, she missed his smile. Her heart clenched with the realisation of just how much she missed it. Silently she resolved that she would bring it to his face again. She would do anything to see the slight crinkles around his eyes and the dimple in his cheek.

“I won’t be far,” her husband finally said, hesitating once more before he swept down to press a firm kiss to her forehead before making for the door. He looked back once he had opened it, and she nodded reassuringly for him. He looked slightly placated, but still uneasy, before he closed the door behind him. Myrcella wondered if he would stay on the other side and listen.

“He won’t,” Arya said, and she jumped slightly, shifting her attention to the dark haired woman.

“Won’t?” Myrcella repeated questioningly.

“Listen,” Arya said, and she nodded her head slowly. “I still hate that you made him let the Kingslayer go,” Arya went on after a moment, and Myrcella opened her mouth to protest. “You might not have asked him,” her good-sister went on, “but he did it for you, whether you will admit it or not.”

“I can’t deny I wanted him spared,” Myrcella decided to be honest. She had the feeling that Arya would see right through her if she decided to lie. Just like Robb could always see right through her. She wasn’t used to people knowing her well enough to decipher exactly what she was or was not feeling or concealing. Only Tommen had ever bothered, and she had even managed to keep her deepest despairs from him. She had to, if only to protect him, to allow him to believe that she was indeed strong enough for both of them. Her fingers curled, but she forced her nails away from her palms. Robb would interpret it wrong if she left his study with crescents pressed into her skin. He would assume Arya had upset her. She would not be the cause of any more rifts between the Starks.

“Why?” Arya asked after a long moment of just looking at her.

“He came all this way to warn us, about my mother,” Myrcella shook her head, anger clenching her stomach as it always did when she thought of her mother’s plan. “I didn’t want him executed on my account,” she went on, “he came here for me, because he is one of the few members of my family who actually care for my happiness.”

Arya snorted.

“I’m not condoning what he did,” Myrcella almost snapped. “I would never. But if he had not come here then we may never have known what my mother was planning. Robb wouldn’t be prepared. Anyone could have come through those gates. He wouldn’t be on his guard, have Grey Wind with him and mail beneath his doublet. Someone could have -”

She choked. The image of Robb lying stony and dead flashed behind her eyes. It had been all she had dreamed about since the warning had come. Him dead. In so many ways. She had had no idea that she could imagine so many ways in which he would die.

“I still don’t like you,” Arya said bluntly as Myrcella quickly blinked back the tears welling in her eyes. “But,” she could tell the word was uttered grudgingly, “I do believe that you love my brother, and that is something we have in common.”

“I _do_ love him,” Myrcella confirmed, unable to help leaning forwards slightly to show she meant it.

“Can’t you do something?” Arya asked her, clear desperation in her eyes and in her voice.

“Do you know how many times I have written to her?” Myrcella almost laughed at the ridiculous assumption that she could exercise any kind of control over her mother. “How many times I have told her how happy I am here with Robb, with…with all of you…” she tailed off, shaking her head slightly. “She won’t have it,” Myrcella met Arya’s eyes and held them. “She believes Robb mistreats me, and nothing I have written has convinced her otherwise.”

Arya made a frustrated noise, and Myrcella smiled wryly.

“The real truth is, this isn’t about me,” Myrcella shook her head sadly. “She may have told Jaime that, she may even have told herself that she is doing this for me, but she isn’t. This is revenge. She never wanted this truce. She wanted Robb finished and the North back under Tommen’s control. The pact my grandfather made was something she was whole-heartedly against. I can’t make her see sense, Arya, because she wants Robb dead. If that means I lose the man I love…” she shrugged, “then so be it. My happiness means nothing to her, it never has. I used to delude myself into thinking it did, but Tommen and I were never supposed to amount to anything, you see?”

Arya looked faintly disgusted.

“I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me,” Myrcella said quickly. “I’m just trying to make you understand that there is _nothing_ I can do to make this go away. If there was, believe me, I would have done it already. Do you really think I want my baby being born into this?”

“No,” Arya said quietly, looking uneasy.

“I don’t blame you for not liking me,” she laughed shakily, “I wouldn’t like me either.”

“You’re not that bad,” Arya muttered, not looking at her.

“High praise indeed,” Myrcella said quietly, and the corner of Arya’s mouth twitched slightly.

“I didn’t want things to change,” Arya suddenly blurted out, and Myrcella raised her brows. Arya’s cheeks were slightly flushed, and she seemed unable to look at her. “I always knew you would come eventually,” her good-sister went on after a moment. “But I never wanted things to change. We _somehow_ managed to find some kind of happiness when all the wars were finally done. I didn’t want you to come along and spoil it.”

“I can understand that,” Myrcella said quietly. Arya’s words had stung slightly, but despite that she appreciated the honesty. Appreciated the fact that Arya had dropped her guard. Let it slip down and actually told Myrcella something real. She could sense the vulnerability from the other woman, and she knew just how that felt.

“I didn’t like it,” Arya continued in a rush, as though she had been dying to say this for a long time. “I didn’t like it when I saw Robb starting to like you. I didn’t like that he was allowing you to become part of our family. I didn’t want anyone else to become part of our family. I know it’s stupid,” she shook her head, “Robb’s king, he needs an heir. The Stark line needs to go on like it always has, but -”

“But you wanted it to be just you for that little bit longer?” Myrcella suggested quietly as Arya struggled to continue. The other woman nodded her head briskly, and Myrcella could see her eyes shining. “I didn’t want to come so soon,” Myrcella dropped her gaze as Arya moved her hand to her eyes. She sensed that Arya wouldn’t want her to see her crying. “I wanted to stay with Tommen a little longer, but I had to come, I had no choice. And now…well, now I am glad I did.”

“Robb deserves to be happy,” Arya mumbled thickly. Myrcella kept her gaze away, focusing on her folded hands. “I still think he would have been better off with a proper, northern woman who knows how to wield a sword and shoot a bow,” she continued, her voice sounding more normal again, and Myrcella couldn’t help but laugh. “But then…” Arya clearly took a deep breath, “I suppose if it wasn’t you it would have been a Frey girl, and I don’t suppose any of them know anything about swords and bows either.”

“Perhaps not,” Myrcella said quietly, chancing a glance at her good-sister.

“If I ever get the chance, I will kill your mother,” Arya told her, meeting her eyes determinedly. Myrcella nodded her head slowly, keeping eye contact. Arya mimicked her movement, and for perhaps the first time, true understanding passed between the two women. Myrcella could have sworn she saw a grudging respect in Arya’s eyes.

“I know,” she finally said quietly. “I understand.”

* * *

Myrcella and Robb walked in silence back to their chambers. He had come back to his study not long after she and Arya had reached their understanding. His piercing gaze had glanced between the pair of them until Arya had finally cracked. She had told him she understood why he had let Jaime go, and warned him to watch his back, promising that she would be keeping her own eyes on him. They had embraced then, and Myrcella had taken a relieved breath. After that Arya had made her excuses to leave, and soon after Robb had offered Myrcella his hand so they too could leave. Grey Wind’s claws clacked behind them as they made their way to their chambers, and Myrcella concentrated on breathing evenly as Robb held onto her hand just a little bit too tightly.

As soon as they entered their chambers he closed the door firmly behind them and gathered Myrcella up in his arms. She clung to him, closing her eyes as she buried herself in his chest. He may not have been lax in showing his affection towards her, but this was the first time since Jaime had come that his embrace felt truly real. It was almost enough to have tears spilling from her eyes, but she forced them back, digging her fingertips into his doublet. She could feel the hardness beneath, knowing that is was the mail he wore under his clothes. For some reason it made her cling even more tightly to him. One of his own hands came up to clench around her hair near the base of her neck. It almost felt like he would never let go, but Myrcella would be happy to remain in his embrace for as long as he wanted her.

His lips came to press to her temple after several long moments, and she couldn’t help but exhale in satisfied relief. “I’m sorry,” his lips fluttered against her skin, and she shuddered slightly at his warm breath against her.

“What for?” she whispered back. She could not imagine what he could possibly be sorry for. It ought to be her apologising. She had done, several times, though he had continually told her not to. As far as she was concerned he had absolutely nothing to be sorry for.

“I’ve been different,” he pulled back from her slightly so he could look down into her eyes. “Don’t deny it, I know you’ve felt it,” he said, keenly guessing that she was about to protest. “I have no excuse,” he continued, shaking his head, “only that I have been worrying myself sick thinking about the best way to keep you all safe.”

“You should be concerned about yourself,” Myrcella insisted, digging her fingers into his back again. “It’s you who is in danger, though I wish with everything that I have that it was not so.”

“You need to stop blaming yourself,” Robb said knowingly.

“She’s my mother,” Myrcella said tiredly, not seeing the point of denying his astute presumption.

“And she’d want me dead even if she wasn’t,” he smiled wryly, and she snorted slightly.

“You might be right there,” she said grudgingly, and a smile twitched at his lips.

“I refuse to live in fear,” he said after a long moment of quiet, and she quirked her head to one side questioningly. “I want to continue being happy,” he explained, “I want to worry about nothing more than keeping us warm this winter, and this.” He slipped one hand down to rest on her expanding stomach, and she smiled softly at him.

“I thought you kept telling me not to worry about this,” she said teasingly, moving to rest her hand on top of his.

“You know what I mean,” he said exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. She grinned, and a moment later his own face cracked into a smile. His eyes lit up, the creases appearing and the dimple showing through the bristles of his beard. It was all she could do not to burst into tears on seeing it. Knowing he was still able to smile at her like that made it feel like a huge weight had been lifted from her heart. She truly believed it then. Truly believed that he really didn’t blame her for this.

“Thank you,” she whispered, before she could stop herself. He frowned in response.

“What for?” he questioned her, and she shook her head, smiling again.

“Just…” she couldn’t find the words, “just, thank you.”

He met her eyes and didn’t look away. She wondered if he perhaps understood what she had been unable to explain to him. His lips quirked up on one side, and she liked to imagine that maybe he did. His thumb rubbed against the swell of her stomach, and in the next moment he bent his head to brush his lips with hers. When he made to move back she involuntarily moved with him. He understood her movement, an almost wolfish grin adorning his features before he moved closer to her again and captured her lips properly.

His kiss was wonderfully real. It had only been days but it felt like several lifetimes since he had last kissed her like this. She didn’t feel any distraction or distance in the way his lips worked with hers. She only felt the heady bliss and the familiar desire knotting her stomach. There was nothing false about this kiss, and she clung to that knowledge as tightly as she clung to her husband.

When he finally broke the kiss she was breathless, her heart beating seemingly twice as quickly against her ribcage. He smiled again, his lips a mere inch from hers. “I love you,” he breathed, and again, the warmth of his words against her made her shudder in delight.

“I love you,” she returned easily, firmly, wanting him to know just how much she meant it. She couldn’t have Robb doubt her. For the first time she understood his desperate need for her to understand that he was being honest. She felt it now. Felt that need for him to know that the words that came from her were all truth. He had to know now more than ever before that she would never lie to him.

“I know,” he whispered reassuringly, pressing a light kiss to her forehead before enveloping her in an embrace again, his cheek resting against the top of her head.

After what could have been hours he finally released her, she made no protest as he encouraged her into one of the armchairs by the fire. He took the one opposite, the light dancing in the blue of his eyes, which were fixed almost quizzically on her. Myrcella could tell he wanted to ask her something, but she didn’t press him, instead settling back into the comfort of the chair, her hands coming to settle on her stomach.

“Arya didn’t upset you, did she?” he finally asked, and she could see the worry in his expression.

“No,” she assured him easily, smiling at him. He looked faintly placated, but she knew he wasn’t finished.

“She’s not planning on doing anything stupid, is she?” Robb asked next, and she shook her head.

“Of course not,” she said. It was the truth, at least, as far as she knew. Arya may have promised to kill her mother should she get the chance, but Myrcella highly doubted that she would ever get that chance. It was highly unlikely that her mother would ever lower herself to visit Winterfell ever again, and Myrcella thought it just as unlikely that Robb would ever take any of his family to the Capitol. Myrcella smiled again, and she heard Robb exhale as he relaxed back into his own chair.

“Good,” he said, clear relief dripping from that simple word.

“Robb?” she asked tentatively after a long moment of watching him gazing intently towards the flames.

“Hmm?” he turned his head towards her expectantly.

“What you said before, about us being expected in the Capitol once spring arrives. We won’t still be going, will we?” she asked him, praying the answer would be no. As desperate as she was to see Tommen again, the thought of Robb being anywhere near her mother filled her with a horrible, heavy sense of dread.

“It’s like I said, we’ll be expected,” Robb said gently.

“But -,” she started, but he hushed her.

“Don’t think of it now,” he soothed, though the nagging worry in the pit of her stomach refused to abate. “This winter could last for many months yet, years even, and we won’t be even thinking of going anywhere until our baby is born.”

 _The baby!_ Myrcella sensed a glimmer of hope. Her heart beating more quickly than usual, she tried to choose the right words. “Is it wise?” she asked Robb, her eyes wide. “To travel with such a young baby? What if something were to happen?”

Robb eyed her for a moment, and she swallowed hard. Judging from the look on his face he knew exactly what the motivation behind her words was. He didn’t confront her on it though, merely shook his head, smiling slightly. “As I said, we do not have to think on it just yet,” he said calmly, though Myrcella recognised well enough that the conversation was over. For now, at least.

 "Very well,” she agreed with him, keeping her eyes on him as he turned his own back to the fire.

 “You know I would never risk you, or the baby,” Robb said, his eyes not moving from the flames.

“I know,” Myrcella agreed. “But you know it’s not me and the baby I am worried about.”

He said nothing, but his hand reached out across the gap between them. She moved her own hand to meet his, and he laced his fingers firmly with hers. Myrcella squeezed his hand, and he returned the pressure. She determined then, for the thousandth time, that she would not allow anything to happen to him. She never wanted to feel that hand cold and heavy and unmoving against her own.

She would not let her mother win.


	29. Interlude: Burning Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> Big thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter - the welcome back was amazing!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy the new chapter, it's shorter than usual which means a trip to the Capitol.
> 
> Next one will be longer, as usual, and hopefully be up next week with a bit of luck!
> 
> :)

* * *

_Cersei_

* * *

 

The afternoon’s session in court was dragging on and on. She was barely listening. Standing beside the Iron Throne while Tommen conducted audience after audience with men and women who grew progressively boring was not what she wanted to be doing. Still, it had to be endured. Her father had insisted upon her attendance. What he meant by it she didn’t know. Likely it was some form of punishment. He had admonished her twice in recent weeks for not being publically attentive of Tommen and _the queen._

A dark look crossed her features, but it was quickly disguised. Her eyes flickered to the other side of the throne, where Alysanne Bulwer was sat on a beautifully carved wooden throne. She swallowed the irritation. If she were asked her opinion, she would say that the girl scarce deserved it. No one did ask her opinion though, and so she stood as still as a statue and let the droning wash over her.

By the Gods it was tedious…

“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” Tommen had risen from the Iron Throne as yet another groveler backed away from his presence, bowing all the while. She rolled her eyes, before politely fixing her gaze on her son. “This concludes court for this afternoon,” he continued on, his voice stronger and more powerful than she had noticed it being before. It vaguely surprised her.

“Before we part company,” he continued on, his gaze sweeping the hall, “I have glad tidings which I wish to share with you.”

He had Cersei’s attention now, though her eyes flickered towards the serenely smiling Alysanne for a moment, her suspicions peaking. Oh Gods, if she was with child then there would be no hope of being rid of the unworthy little brat. Her eyes moved back to Tommen.

“I have received glad tidings from my sister, Myrcella, the Queen in the North and of the Trident,” Tommen went on smilingly, and Cersei bristled at the title that had been forced upon her daughter. “It is my delight to share with you that she will soon be bearing an heir for the North and the Trident, over which she and her husband justly and fairly reign. I ask that you pray for the health and good fortune of your princess,” Tommen bowed his head, and Cersei felt as though a slab of ice had slipped into her stomach.

She didn’t bow her head in prayer like those congregated. It was all that she could do to stop it from spinning. She felt as though she would pass out.

Eventually she became aware of movement in the throne room. The people were filing out. Tommen had come down from the Iron Throne and moved to escort his wife back towards the keep’s living quarters. He didn’t even look at her. Her father spared her a glance, his look withering, before he too made his way out of the door Tommen and his wife had just gone through. There was no one left now but a few stragglers and the usual guards.

Cersei blinked stupidly before finally regaining some of her senses. She walked numbly from the hall, back towards her own chambers. She didn’t bother to acknowledge the guards who followed her, nor the ones who were stood on either side of her door. Once inside she slammed the door, making her way further in.

She froze.

“Jaime!” she choked out, relief washing the numbness away.

He didn’t smile.

“Jaime, I’ve just heard,” she shook her head despairingly, taking a few steps towards him. “I wonder what I ought to do! Is it too late to send something to her? By the Gods, she would not think of taking anything for herself… But then…if she loses the child, there is no telling what Stark might do to her… What happened, Jaime?! Did you not say you would bring her back? Did you manage it? Jaime?!”

His silence was starting to irritate her. She was about to berate him for his lack of news when she finally took a proper look at him. Her words died on her tongue. Jaime had never looked at her in such a way. She swallowed hard.

“Jaime?” she asked, tentatively, almost quelling under the look he bestowed on her.

“I saw Myrcella,” he told her, and her heart leapt. “She was very confused by my presence,” he continued, a smile coming to his face. It didn’t comfort her. It chilled her. “She had _absolutely no idea_ ,” he went on, slowly and deliberately, his eyes boring into hers. “What I was talking about,” he finished, and again, she swallowed hard. “She was horrified,” Jaime spoke again before she could find any words. “Absolutely _disgusted,_ ” he almost spat the word and she flinched, “at the suggestion that Stark was causing her harm.”

“Jaime…” she whispered, but he spoke again before she could find more words.

“Imagine my surprise,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “at travelling all that way as winter took hold, only to find I had had a wasted journey. You see, far from being miserable, Cersei, Myrcella is absolutely thriving in the North. I am no admirer of Stark’s, but it is clear to me that he adores her, and her him. So I wonder, how you could have got it so wrong..?”

He tailed off deliberately, looking at her expectantly.

“Well – I – I cannot explain – Jaime, her letters -”

“Said exactly the same as she confirmed to me!” he snapped at her, and she took a step backwards.

“What?” she shook her head, ready to deny it. Jaime couldn’t know. He couldn’t possibly know.

“You ought to conceal your secrets more thoroughly, Cersei,” he said venomously. “Though I confess, my suspicions were aroused before I found your letters.”

She gaped at him, he smiled again. Not the smile she adored, but something twisted that she did not recognise, and nor did she like it.

“Tommen was rather confused when I mentioned your concern for how Myrcella was settling at Winterfell,” Jaime went on before she could speak. “He was rather abrupt with me, actually, told me in no uncertain terms that Myrcella was happy in the North. Of course, it crossed my mind that she might be coddling him, she always was protective of him. Obviously, she would not want her brother to know if Stark was beating and raping her, would she?”

“Exactly!” Cersei gasped out, tears welling in her eyes.

“But as I said, I found your letters,” he said coldly, “the ones you thought you’d hidden. The ones begging you to believe that she was happy and well cared for. She _loves_ him, Cersei, and while I question her tastes, I cannot deny her happiness. How can you? She is your _daughter_!”

“And she belongs here!” Cersei screamed at him. He didn’t look surprised.

“No she doesn’t,” he shook his head at her, something akin to disgust in his eyes.

“Of course she does! She doesn’t belong up there in that frozen wasteland! Tied to that savage, forced to bear his brats! You think that is what she deserves?! Do you?!”

“Yes!” Jaime bellowed at her. “Yes I do! Because I have seen her, heard from her own mouth that she is happy! Do you know what she asked of me?! She begged me to make you stop, to make you see reason! She made me promise not to tell you that she was with child, because she was afraid of what you might do if you found out about her condition!”

“She wouldn’t -,” Cersei started, but apparently Jaime wasn’t finished.

“She also told me that she would raise the banners of the North and the Riverlands against you should any harm come to her husband,” he finished, his tone softer, but no less angry. “Are you not the least bit ashamed?” he shook his head incredulously.

“Ashamed?” she repeated, shaking her head. “Ashamed of wanting the best for my daughter? _Never._ ”

“If you want what is best for her, then you will leave her well alone!” Jaime snapped.

“You don’t understand…you can’t understand…” she shook her head, looking murderous.

“I understand,” his tone was the softest she had heard it. She met his eyes, seeing disgust shining back at her. Again, she almost flinched away from him. “I understand that you would destroy your daughter’s future, and the happiness she so desperately deserves to avenge the son who has been dead for nearly a decade –”

Jaime cut off as she slapped him hard across the face.

“Robb Stark didn’t kill Joffrey!” he grabbed her shoulders and shook her. She fought against him, desperate to shake him off so she could hit him again. So she could hit him, and hit him and never stop until he had stopped. She had to make him stop! “You have to stop this!” he hissed at her, shaking her more violently.

“Never!” she snapped back defiantly.

“Fine,” he squeezed her upper arms so hard she knew he would leave bruises, “then you leave me no choice.”

“What are you talking about?!” she demanded.

“I’ll tell father, and Tommen, and you will be banished to the Rock this time, Cersei, you mark my words,” he told her harshly.

“You wouldn’t,” she said, though she was not nearly as certain as she made her voice come out.

“I would,” he said, “for my daughter, I would.”

Tears filled her eyes then. She couldn’t stop them. Jaime relaxed his grip on her arms, and she sagged back away from him. She couldn’t believe it. She had assumed, always assumed, that Jaime would always back her. No matter what. Now he was standing before her, threatening to have her banished to the Rock. She never would have believed it of him.

“Drop this, Cersei,” he said softly, and she nodded automatically. “Say it,” he urged.

“I’ll stop,” she heard herself say.

“If I get one hint that you have sent anyone to the North, to Stark, then I -”

“I won’t!” she snapped, cutting him off.

She meant it. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t send anyone to the North to finish Stark. Not now. Not now that Jaime was watching over her, ready to foil any plot. No, she would have to go back to waiting. Myrcella would have to bear the Stark brat. With luck, spring would soon come, and with it would come a visit from the royal court of the North. She would be charming, perhaps suggest a tourney. From there, it would be painfully easy. Accidents occurred in tourneys all the time. Robb Stark had survived so many years and so many battles through sheer luck.

Cersei was now more determined than ever to see his luck finally run out.


	30. XXVI: Planning and Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> Thanks so much for the comments and the kudos. 
> 
> We're back to a full length chapter, hope you enjoy!
> 
> :)

 

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

It had been worth the wait. Worth all the hours sat with his hand or his ear pressed against her stomach. It had happened in the dead of night. His wife had been peacefully sleeping, rolled over onto her back with her arms splayed all over the place. The bigger her stomach grew the more space she seemed to want to command in their bed. He didn’t complain. He would allow her to do whatever she pleased. Whatever she needed for herself and the precious life nurturing within her. She must have glanced his head with her hand as she had rolled over, and he had huffed awake to see her still in the depths of sleep.

The irritation he had felt on initially being batted awake melted away as soon as he set eyes on her. She was ever so beautiful. It was the one thing that he had truly never been able to deny. Not even when she had first arrived and he had been so certain that a lifetime of misery would be laid out before him. That day in the gardens. The first time he had set eyes on her in a decade. No longer a child he barely took note of, but a woman grown. A beautiful woman. The _most beautiful_ woman. Even then he was struck. It had angered him beyond comprehension. He hadn’t wanted to find her beautiful, but he couldn’t help himself. The attraction had only grown, and now he loved her with such a fierce intensity. It still took him aback sometimes, when he took a moment to think.

He had never imagined this future, but he was so glad it had manifested.

It was then, as he lay propped on one elbow, gazing down at his golden queen, that he slipped his free hand under the furs to her uncovered stomach. She had shifted slightly, doubtless his hand was a little cold compared to the delicious warmth beneath their covers. Her eyes remained closed though, her breathing even. He had let out the breath that he had held at her movement, keeping his hand pressed against her. It was a moment later that he almost jumped, his heart seeming to skip a beat in his chest. He had _felt it_ , the baby, softly nudging against his palm.

A grin spread across his face as he remembered it, the missive he was supposed to be reading through forgotten in front of him. Myrcella had tried to explain to him dozens of times what it felt like when the baby moved within her. Of course, he had known it would be different for him, but nothing had prepared him for the overwhelming sense of wonder that had seeped through every part of him. It was real now. More real than when Myrcella had confirmed it to him. More real than when her stomach had started to thicken, or when she had first told him she thought she had felt the baby stir. His grin grew wider. It was so inexplicably real, and so very wonderful.

He shook his head slightly to clear it, blinking the missive back into focus. It took him a few moments to even remember what it was about. With a sigh he began reading from the beginning again. His progress was slower than usual as his mind continued to wander. Again he shook his head, catching Grey Wind watching him intently from where he was lay in front of the fire, his front paws folded neatly in front of him. He twitched his lips up for the great beast, and he seemed placated, slowly lowering his head to rest on his paws. After a moment his yellow eyes blinked closed, only to open again almost immediately as a soft knock came at the door.

“Come,” Robb said, his fingers moving to find the handle of the dagger that was lying on the side of the desk. The door opened, and he slipped his hand away from the blade at once. She had seen though, her eyes widening slightly, though she made no comment.

“I got a letter,” she said instead, before he could greet her.

“From who?” he asked, and she seemed to hesitate for a moment before she replied.

“Jaime,” she finally said, meeting his eyes. His brows raised, and she took a few more steps into the room after closing the door behind her.

“What did it say?” Robb inquired, trying to keep his tone even. It was slightly stiff, though he had done his best.

“He believes he has managed to speak sense to my mother,” his wife informed him, and he couldn’t help but raise his brows. “He says that at first she was defiant, but that when he threatened to tell Tommen and my grandfather she backed down. The last thing she wants is to be banished to the Rock, and that is what he told her would happen should she continue with her madness.”

“Do you believe she truly will stop?” he asked.

“Possibly, if she is truly afraid of Jaime’s threat,” Myrcella said, “though he has urged us to remain cautious. He has promised to keep his eye on her as often as possible, and perhaps even get Varys to have his spies keep a watch on her. You can read it, if you’d like?” she held out the letter to him, but he shook his head.

“No, I trust you,” he said simply, and she retracted the letter, a little smile playing about her lips.

“Are you very busy?” she asked him.

“I ought to be,” he replied, and her smile widened.

“I hope it is nothing troubling that is keeping you so distracted,” she said.

“I suppose I ought to be troubled indeed,” he returned her smile, “though since last night I find my mind elsewhere entirely.”

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” she seemed to glow as she spoke the words, her hands coming to cradle her stomach, which was swathed as ever with thick furs. He smiled in response, taking a moment to really look at her. She was a different wonder when she was awake to when she was deep in sleep. Still entirely captivating, but ever so different. He noted the sparkle in her eyes and the soft expression on her face as she looked down towards her growing stomach. Her initial fear at being with child seemed to ebb away more every day. Robb knew it was likely to return as her time grew closer, but right now she seemed to radiate calm, and it in turn seemed to keep the fears of the worst from his own mind.

“Wonderful,” he finally agreed with her, and she lifted her eyes to meet his, beaming at him.

“I ought to leave you,” Myrcella said after another moment.

“I don’t believe you can leave if you have not formally greeted me,” he raised a brow and she giggled.

“Formally?” she raised a brow of her own, and he nodded, to which she dropped into a curtsey which was just as elegant as ever. He had not seen her do that in so long. It had a burst of laughter escaping his lips, and her own eyes were shining in amusement.

“Very funny, wife,” he growled at her. “How about an informal greeting instead?”

“As you wish, your Grace,” she said teasingly, before making her way carefully around his desk.

He pushed his chair back at her approach, patting his knee. She raised a brow again, but moved to perch on his lap, one of her arms snaking its way around his neck. Robb exhaled in satisfaction as her fingers began toying with the hair at the base of his neck. He raised his head, and she pressed herself closer to him before lowering her own. As their lips met he settled his hand on her thigh, and her hand clenched slightly more firmly in his curls. He kissed her harder, until he could barely supress a groan of desire. When he pulled back her breath was quick against his lips, and his own heart was hammering in his chest.

“I should leave you to work,” she whispered breathlessly.

“You should,” he agreed, “though you ought to give me a proper goodbye first,” he continued, before pulling her, giggling, into another heated kiss.

* * *

Robb left his study several hours later, one of the guards informing him that Myrcella was in the library when he inquired as to whether they had seen her. He made his way in that direction, intending to collect her before having a private dinner in their chambers. It felt like too long since they had dined alone. His mother had been very insistent recently that they all dine in the hall. She claimed it was because she enjoyed having all the family together. Robb knew damn well that it was because she imagined it would be harder for anyone to poison him there with so many alert eyes about the place. Between her and Myrcella’s watchful gazes he doubted anyone would have a chance to slip anything into his food or drink.

Still, he would defy his mother’s wishes tonight. He wanted his wife all to himself, and since she had received word from the Kingslayer, he was feeling more relaxed. Never had he imagined that he would be feeling reassured by that animal. Still, he was grudgingly grateful. It was a weight off his mind to know that there was no assassin on their way to him. Whatever he had told everyone else, it had terrified him that he might not live to see his child born. He would still be cautious, he still did not fully trust that this was the end of the matter, but he did hope that he would be able to go about his days as he done since peacetime had come – without dread or fear.

He didn’t really think it too much to ask after everything he had endured over the past years.

Robb ambled easily towards the library, Grey Wind at his side. He imagined his wolf would also be pleased at the news from the Capitol, it would mean he would be able to go out into the Wolfswood much more often again. Robb smiled slightly at the thought as he reached the door of the library. He pushed it open slowly and quietly, not wishing to disturb anyone’s peace. After a moment he heard the low murmuring of voices, and set off down the aisles of shelves towards their direction. As he drew closer he recognised them as Bran and Myrcella.

It made him smile again. Myrcella had been worried that Bran would be angry with her after everything that had gone on with the Kingslayer. He hadn’t, of course, in fact his concern had all been for her. His wife had been relieved, he had seen it etched clearly across her face.

“So, you believe that if you’re right you could make something more effective than milk of the poppy?” Myrcella was asking almost disbelievingly as he moved closer.

“Possibly,” Bran sounded cautious. “But if I were wrong, there is no telling what damage it could do.”

“But if you were right, the benefits could be tremendous,” Myrcella implored.

“But who would test it?” Bran questioned her, and Robb could practically sense her frowning.

“Have you spoken to the Maester about this?” she ignored his question.

“No,” he answered.

“Don’t you think you ought to? He might be able to add his own insight. Could be that together you can confirm or dismiss your theory,” she was coaxing now.

“I don’t know…” Bran said slowly.

“What is there to lose?” she asked.

“It could not just be brewed and given to people without the theory being tested. People would have to be given it, and if it does not work as I believe it would, then it could make them sick. It could even kill them. I can’t live with that, Myrcella,” Bran said seriously.

“But what if you’re right?” she almost moaned in frustration, and Robb finally took the last steps towards where they were sat leant over several books and Bran’s rolls of hand-written notes.

“It seems the pair of you are going in circles,” Robb commented in an amused tone, and they both jumped slightly, turning their heads towards him. “Do you think you’re right?” he asked Bran, holding his brother’s eyes for a long moment.

“I cannot be certain,” Bran said.

“But you _think_ you’re right?” Robb pressed him.

“I always think I’m right,” Bran said almost exasperatedly, and Robb grinned, seeing a rather triumphant expression come to Myrcella’s face. “But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t be wrong. Milk of the poppy has been more than adequate, and is very effective,” he continued. “There is no point in risking people’s health just to satisfy my own curiosity.”

“This looks like more than curiosity,” Robb said, leaning over to pick up a few sheets of his notes.

“He has been working on this for months,” Myrcella told him as he scanned his brother’s writing. Half of it made no sense to him, though it all looked very impressive.

“Myrcella…” Bran was half warning and half exasperated. Myrcella didn’t appear deterred.

“You know what he’s like, Robb,” she continued on, “usually after a week of study he is on to the next thing. Always looking for something new. But _this_ , this has been months and months, and he has done so much. Don’t you think he should at least discuss it with the Maester? This could benefit so many people.”

“It could,” Robb agreed, laying Bran’s papers back down on the desk.

“But, Robb, I could be wrong,” Bran said quietly but insistently, meeting his eyes.

“You could,” Robb also agreed with him. “But sometimes a little risk needs to be taken. Where would we be if Maesters of old had been too cautious?”

Bran didn’t answer.

“At least speak to the Maester, Bran,” Myrcella coaxed. “If he sees no merit in what you’ve done then I will never speak of it again, but you have to at least mention it.”

“I agree,” Robb said firmly, “this could be important, Bran. Best to know for sure.”

“Fine,” Bran sighed exasperatedly, and Myrcella looked delighted.

“Well, since we are all in agreement, perhaps we can venture to dinner together,” Robb said.

“That’s a wonderful idea, I’m starved,” Myrcella said.

“Me too,” Bran agreed, already wheeling his chair around to face the way out.

After his initial return after all the wars, Robb had wanted to aid Bran in any way he could. Even after the Maester and the smith had worked on making the wheeled chair for him, Robb had always moved to push him in it. Bran had been insistent on him not doing it, though. Robb had still had to check himself for so long. His hands would reach for the handles, before he stopped himself and pulled them back. Bran never said anything, but Robb knew he noticed. It had taken a long time, but eventually he had stopped reaching his hands out. He had accepted that his brother could manage it himself. That his brother _wanted_ to manage it himself.

Robb was prouder of Bran than he had ever found the words to express. He just hoped his brother knew. In his place, Robb didn’t know if he would have been able to cope. Without his legs… He shook his head slightly, it was not something he could even contemplate. He didn’t have Bran’s mind. Likely he would just go mad. Grow increasingly bitter and isolated. He almost shuddered.

“What are you thinking of? You seem a million miles away,” Myrcella’s voice, her hand slipping into the crook of his elbow, pulled him from his darker thoughts.

“A king thinks of a great many things,” he told her, trying to keep his tone teasing.

She hummed suspiciously, but didn’t question him further as they walked in step behind Bran towards the entrance hall.

“I had thought that we could dine alone tonight,” he told his wife.

“Have you changed your mind?” she asked him knowingly.

“If you are happy to endure the hall, then so am I,” he replied, and she smiled up at him.

“I am most happy,” she told him, and he knew that she didn’t just mean the dining arrangements.

“As am I,” he responded. “Most happy.”

* * *

Robb could sense Myrcella’s nerves as the five women entered the nursery, all curtseying before them. He trained his eyes on each of them, looking for any hint that they would be unkind or unhelpful to his wife. If he caught a whisper of it, they would be dismissed at once. They were a matron, and four nurses, all here to aid her in her final moons of pregnancy, and to help look after the baby when it was born.

Robb knew that traditionally, royal children were left to be raised by nurses for the most part. He was, however, quietly hoping that he and Myrcella could break that tradition. He wanted it to be like it was for him growing up, not as it had been for his wife. The one thing he wanted more than anything was for his child, his children, to know that they were safe and loved. Loved by their parents, most of all. His eyes slid to Myrcella again, seeing how her hands were carefully cradling her stomach. Despite her initial fear he knew she loved the baby growing within her. He knew she would never be like her mother. Cold and unfeeling. It wasn’t her nature. He couldn’t have loved her if it were.

“Your Graces,” the eldest woman, the matron, he assumed, greeted them.

“Welcome to Winterfell,” Robb smiled, “I do hope your journey was not too perilous.”

“Not at all,” she answered, the four younger nurses standing meekly behind her with their heads bowed – further confirming to Robb that she was the woman in charge.

“May I present my queen, Myrcella,” he slipped his hand down Myrcella’s back and gently encouraged her forwards slightly. He hated her almost cowering a step behind him, her eyes uncertain. She would be best showing these women her true nature, they would warm to her at once if she did – he was certain of that.

“It is a pleasure, your Grace. My queen,” the matron nodded to them each in turn. “May I ask when the child is expected to be born?”

She was trying. Robb dug his fingertips ever so slightly into Myrcella’s back. He knew she was uncomfortable about this, but she had to try. She had tried with the running of Winterfell, and that had gone ever so well. He wished she had the belief that this could be the same.

“The Maester believes, from the swell of my belly, that it will be no more than three moons,” Myrcella spoke up. Her tone quiet at first, but growing more confident as she continued.

“Then we have plenty time yet to prepare,” the matron smiled, and Robb felt Myrcella relax.

“This is the nursery, though it is not quite ready yet,” Robb spoke. “There are chambers adjoined, for yourself and two others,” he continued, “and additional chambers further down the hallway for the others.”

“You are most kind, and welcoming, your Grace,” the matron said. “We were not expecting to be greeted by yourself and the queen until tomorrow.”

“You have travelled far,” Myrcella said. “And in worsening weather. It is the least we could do, to be here to greet you. After all, you will be an important part of our child’s life, and that is most important to us.”

“Of course, my queen,” the matron inclined her head once more.

“Doubtless you are weary,” Robb smiled. “A meal and some of the good wine will soon be brought to you, and the servants will be more than happy to show you to the additional chambers. I will leave the exact sleeping arrangements to be decided amongst yourselves. The queen and I will leave you now.”

“I hope you all have a restful night,” Myrcella also smiled.

“Thank you, your Graces,” the matron and all the nurses curtseyed again, and Robb steered Myrcella from the room.

He rubbed his hand up and down her back as they set off down the hallway to their own chambers. She was quiet, and he wondered what she was thinking. He himself had thought the matron seemed nice enough, and the girls behind her were clearly obedient. She struck him as someone who would not take much in the way of nonsense. That could only be a good thing. He didn’t want anyone incompetent or lax in charge of his child.

“What did you think?” he finally asked Myrcella when she remained silent.

“I’m not sure yet,” his wife responded. “The matron seemed kindly, from what I could tell. I wish I could have heard something from the nurses.”

“There is plenty of time yet before the baby comes,” he soothed her, “you will have many a chance to speak with them, and get to know them.”

“I wasn’t expecting so many. Do we really need so many?” Myrcella asked him.

“It is expected with a royal child,” Robb said, though he quietly agreed with her.

“I wonder what there will be for me to do, with all of them around me,” she said, and it took him a moment to realise that her tone was almost sad. He stopped them in their tracks, circling until he stood in front of her, his hands coming to gently clasp her upper arms.

“You’re the baby’s mother,” he told her. “You are the most important of all, and you can do as much or as little as you please. The matron and the nurses are yours to command, they are here to help you and do as you bid. Doubtless they will come in most handy whilst you’re recovering. You know what the Maester said – that you will have to stay abed for at least a week.”

“I know,” she scowled, and he had to bite back a grin.

“If, after a time, you find that they are too many, then we can speak with the matron and see if a few of the nurses can be dismissed elsewhere, alright?” he raised a brow. “But for now, they are all here to stay, and it will be best for us all if we all find a way of getting along.”

“I wasn’t going to be awful,” Myrcella frowned up at him.

“I know you weren’t,” he soothed. “Just remember how far they have come, how excited they must be to have been chosen to help care for a prince or princess.” He moved his hand to settle on her stomach, and her irritated expression smoothed away.

“What do you imagine?” Myrcella asked him, her hand coming to rest on his, her thumb rubbing rhythmically against the back of his hand.

“Both,” he told her honestly. It was true. He had imagined a son, in his image, or perhaps in his father’s. Had imagined hoisting him up atop his first pony, the wide-eyed response of wonder and slight fear. Had imagined sparring with him with wooden swords. Even just imagined him tiny and new in Myrcella’s arms, her eyes lighting up as she presented him the first time.

He had also imagined a daughter. Imagined cradling her, promising to protect her from all the evils of the world. He imagined her in Myrcella’s image, how could he not? He could see her golden hair fanning out behind her as he chased her, giggling, down the hallways. It was ever so easy to imagine her older, sat in the window seat with Myrcella, their golden heads pressed almost together as they bent over their needlework.

“Robb?” Myrcella’s soft, curious tone brought him from his imaginings. He blinked, smiled at her again. She smiled back, but her eyes were still full of curiosity.

“Where were you?” she asked him, and he slipped his hands round to rest on her hips, pulling her as close as he could.

“We will fill this castle with children, you and I,” he told her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And I will love them all. Every single one of them, with all my heart. Boy or girl, I promise you.”


	31. XXVII: Doubts and Determination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry it's been a while again!
> 
> Thank you all so much for the comments and the kudos, and hope you enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> :)

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

 

_I miss Etta._

That had been the thought that crossed Myrcella’s mind the most over the last week. It crossed it most frequently when she was sat in the nursery with the five of them. The matron was kindly enough, though she seemed stern when it came to the nurses in her charge. The nurses Myrcella could barely get a word out of.

She tried. The Gods must know that she tried. Every single day she would try a new way to try and needle some kind of real conversation from them. The first day she had merely tried asking them questions; what their names were, where in the North they had come from, how did they like Winterfell so far. They answered, she supposed, but it was like drawing blood from stone. She wondered if perhaps it was her.

Perhaps they feared her, thought she might be cruel. It would not be the first time she had been misjudged. On the second day she determined to show them that she was kindly, and that she would not be an unfair mistress to them. She had cakes brought, encouraged them to help themselves, that they must have as much as they pleased. Each took one, and nibbled at the corner as though it were poisoned. Only one, a pretty little dark-haired girl named Jan, who was around Myrcella’s own age, had eaten the entire thing.

Myrcella had bristled. Surely it was good manners to consume the entirety? She said nothing though, besides encouraging them to help themselves before she excused herself from their presence. Later, she asked the servants whether the cakes had been finished when they had gone in to clean. They hadn’t been. Myrcella had been irked, but unsurprised.

She’d bitten her tongue when Robb had come to their chambers. She had been prepared to let out all her frustration, but he had been smiling and happy having passed the matron on his way to bed and been told that Myrcella had been spending time with the nurses. All she could do then was smile and confirm that that was indeed what she had spent the day doing. He had been delighted, and she had pushed down her frustration and determined to try again with them.

The next day she invited them to her own chambers to join her in some needlework. They all worked with their heads bowed and said nothing unless Myrcella shot a direct question at them. Again, they answered with as little elaboration as possible and in the end she gave up. The rest of the afternoon was spent sewing in silence until it grew too dark and the candle-light began to give them all strained eyes. She bid them all a good evening and was met with silent curtseys. Her needlework ended up flung on the floor as the door closed behind them.

It was ever so tempting not to bother in the days that followed, but Myrcella reminded herself that these women would be looking after her baby, and so she decided to try a new tactic. Perhaps if she spent more time with the matron the nurses would see her more favourably. They clearly took their lead from the older woman and perhaps if they saw her getting along with Myrcella then they would soften. It was worth a try, at least, and so that is what she did.

The matron, it transpired, was named Herda, and hailed from White Harbour. She worshipped the Seven, as Myrcella did, and Myrcella even offered to pray with the woman if she would ever like the company. Her offer was neither accepted nor declined, which left her somewhat dissatisfied. Wouldn’t most women be honoured at the thought of praying with their queen? Prayer was something personal, however, and perhaps she would not want Myrcella invading that time. She pushed it aside and continued speaking with her.

After the second day of doing such, it dawned on Myrcella that all the woman’s talk was of her baby. Even when she asked Myrcella how she was feeling, it seemed she was only doing so out of concern for the baby. Perhaps it wasn’t that strange, after all, the baby would be her charge. It made Myrcella feel uneasy though, and since the nurses were still not softening, she decided there was no more need to spend too much time with the matron.

She retired that night still feeling uneasy. What followed was a fitful sleep, whilst Robb lay peacefully at her side. She didn’t want to wake him with all her tossing and turning, and so she eventually got up and did her needlework by the fire until her eyes were watering. After that she managed a few hours of sleep, only to be roused by Robb getting ready for council. He was apologetic, and looked on her in concern. No doubt she looked terrible, though she assured him she was fine and he left her with his usual kiss and a smile on his face.

Myrcella wondered why she had not confided in him. He had told her that they ought to be honest with one another, and he would want to know of her feelings about the nurses, given how close they would be to their child. However, she felt like she was participating in some silent battle with them, and that if she went to Robb then she would be conceding victory. She was not ready to do that. She would try harder to win them over.

That morning, Lady Stark offered to join her in the nursery. She tried not to sound too eager in her acceptance, though inside she felt more than a little smug. The nurses couldn’t continue the way they had been in Lady Stark’s presence. Myrcella settled into her armchair and took up her needlework as Lady Stark struck up conversation. The nurses were animated with her, and came across as ever so gracious. One, whose name Myrcella could not remember, even gushed about how kindly Myrcella had been to them.

The young one, Jan, caught her eye at that moment, and Myrcella could have sworn that a silent apology was sent towards her. She averted her eyes in the next moment though, and Myrcella bit her tongue and quietly seethed as the nurses continued wrapping Lady Stark around their fingers. There was no way anyone would believe her that they were dismissive and ignorant towards her now. Bringing Lady Stark along had not been a good idea after all. It was almost enough to make her cry, but she refused. She would not show weakness in front of these women. Whatever they thought they were trying to achieve, they would not achieve it. She was the Queen in the North, and her husband and King loved her. His child was thriving inside her, and nothing these nurses dreamt up would ever change that. Myrcella determined it.

_I miss Etta._

“…and they all seem to be settling so well into Winterfell,” Lady Stark was continuing as they dined.

“That’s good, mother, I’m delighted to hear it,” Robb returned.

Myrcella pushed her food around on her plate.

“They tell me that Myrcella has been most welcoming,” her good-mother continued.

“I hear the same,” Robb agreed.

Myrcella gripped her fork harder in her hand.

“They all seem most kindly, the baby will be spoiled indeed,” Lady Stark said. “And the matron, well, she seems to have them all in order. I don’t doubt if she continues on here that she will be a wonderful role-model to the little prince or princess.”

Myrcella seethed at that. She did not even hear Robb’s reply as her blood was pounding in her ears. She did not _want_ the matron or the _kindly_ nurses being wonderful role-models to her son or daughter. She wanted her child to look up to her and Robb. To look to them first rather than any other.

A sudden image came upon her. A child. Her child. Perhaps only having seen two or three name-days, crying. A cut on their hand as tears streamed down their face. Myrcella’s heart tugged, she moved towards the child, to comfort them. It was not her they looked to though, they turned away. Turned towards Herda and her flock of nurses. They descended on them, blocking Myrcella’s view. Blocking Myrcella from everything.

She let her fork drop.

“Myrcella?” Robb turned to her at the clatter.

“I’m sorry,” she apologised at once. “I was miles away, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“So long as you’re alright,” his eyes were piercing. It took everything Myrcella had to keep still and not shift uncomfortably in her seat.

“Of course,” she smiled.

He kept his eyes on her for a lingering moment before he turned back to his dinner. Myrcella let out a sigh of relief, before reaching out for her cup of milk. She sipped on it slowly, glancing out of the corner of her eye to make sure Robb really was engaged in eating again. He seemed to be, and she relaxed. Hopefully he was satisfied and would not accost her when they retired for the night. She knew if he asked her outright then she would be unable to help telling him the truth about the nurses.

It wasn’t long before his hand came to hers, and she set her empty cup aside and turned to him with a smile.

“Are you ready to retire?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Most ready,” she agreed. “I swear I grow more exhausted by the day.”

It wasn’t a lie. The baby seemed to weigh more heavily by the day, and Myrcella found herself needing more sleep than usual. Also, if Robb thought her tired then he would likely let her go to bed right away. That would mean no more questions, and hopefully by the morning he would have forgotten all about it.

Robb smiled at that, and his eyes did not seem to be dancing with suspicion. She let herself have another breath of relief as he rose up and offered her his hand. She took it gladly, easing herself up from her chair. It was becoming more difficult every day given her ever expanding waistline. While she still tried to conduct herself gracefully, she did often wonder whether she was actually managing it.

Both she and Robb bid the rest of the family a good night before they strode easily from the hall. Some of the folk they passed called greetings of their own. Myrcella was always careful to smile widely at them and show gratitude. Hopefully it would help. They all seemed much warmer to her now that she was with child. She knew they were all hoping for a prince, and she prayed that they would not be too disappointed if she delivered their beloved king a daughter.

They were bowed out of the doors, and made for the stairs, Robb’s hand moving from hers to the small of her back as they slowly climbed them. Myrcella was always wary of tripping, and Robb was ever patient of her caution, even if it took them twice as long to ever get anywhere. Her own hand came to rub absently against her stomach as the baby stirred, a slight smile coming to her face. The movement made her even more determined to not let the nurses push her out, if that was indeed what they intended to do.

The baby was _hers_ , not theirs. It was hers and Robb’s, and they would be the ones to be there when truly needed. She wanted to be the first person they looked to. There was no way she would become her mother. She did not want her child to be her, looking for her nurse when something upset her because her mother would be nowhere to be seen. Myrcella may be a queen, but she was determined not to let those duties turn her into an absent mother.

“You are thinking hard,” Robb commented as he opened the door to their chambers and gestured for her to enter first.

“I find I have much to think about, the closer it gets,” she replied, patting her stomach lightly.

“Are you worried about anything?” he asked, his gaze seemingly piercing her soul.

If she told him no then he would read the lie immediately, and then he really wouldn’t let go until she told him what was bothering her. Myrcella decided to settle on a half-truth.

“I just want to be able to spend as much time with the baby as I can,” she said.

“And you will,” Robb was soothing as he began removing his furs. “My mother is happy to take on your duties while you recover and spend time with the baby. After that, you can share them if you wish, and mother thinks it is high time Arya learned how to run a household.”

“Are you thinking of marriage for her?” she asked with a raised brow.

“I must,” Robb sighed. “She cannot remain unmarried forever. It has not escaped the notice of my lords and my council that my own wife is younger than my unwed sister. I can no longer use her age as an excuse for not considering a betrothal. By rights she ought to have been married many years ago.”

“Did you have anyone specific in mind?” she asked curiously, watching him carefully as he readied himself for bed.

“I would not send her to a man old enough to be her father,” he said, and she nodded her head. “Given Arya’s temperament and the fact that she prefers to spend her days in the tiltyard, she will need a man capable of understanding that. Someone who shares the same interests, perhaps.”

“So…?” Myrcella raised a brow, and he turned to her, tying his robe about him as he did so.

“I had considered Harrion Karstark,” he said, and she nodded. She remembered him from the wedding, he had bowed politely to her and kissed her hand. His eyes had held suspicion though, she remembered that most clearly. Damn her name.

“I can understand why,” she said, standing up and shrugging away her furs before turning round so Robb could unlace the back of her dress. “It would help strengthen your kinship, given recent… _tensions._ ”

“If you are referring to yourself, you have nothing to feel guilty about,” Robb told her as his fingers made quick work of her lacings. “I was considering Harrion long before you came to Winterfell.”

“But I was always set to come to Winterfell, and you can deny it all you like, but I know that it is the Karstarks who have most cause to despise me,” she said.

“Not you,” he pressed a kiss to her shoulder as he slipped her dress from them. “The name your family possesses. On meeting you Lord Karstark will likely forget any lingering feelings of resentment.”

“My uncle murdered his sons, Robb, I do not think he will ever forget that,” she sighed.

“It was war,” Robb said, though she saw him grimace as she turned around to take her robe from him. “And you had no part of it. Your uncle will never be popular here, but you have already begun to win the people over. There is no reason you will not win over the lords as well.”

“But a marriage proposal may well help ease things along?” she guessed with a raised brow.

“It may,” Robb’s lips twitched upwards slightly.

“And what do you suppose Arya will make of this new plan?” she asked, watching him carefully.

“Harrion will allow her to continue in the tiltyard, allow her to be the woman she wishes to be. He has fought alongside Mormont women, he would not underestimate her, which is more than can be said for other lords,” he answered.

“In other words, she will be furious,” Myrcella grimaced slightly.

“She knew she would have to marry eventually,” he said firmly, as though he was trying to convince himself. “It will be fine.”

Myrcella doubted it, but she decided against pushing it.

“As you say,” she said instead, before moving towards the dresser and seating herself at it, picking up her brush and running it through her hair.

She watched Robb in the mirror. He moved to the desk and shuffled a few papers before scratching his head and moving to the bed. When he was settled he met her eyes in the mirror and she smiled at him. He returned the gesture, and she sighed contentedly. Perhaps he was right, Arya may well find that she enjoyed marriage. Myrcella had never imagined she would, but now she would not change it for anything in the world.

“My mother seemed quite enamoured with the nurses,” Robb said after a moment.

“Indeed,” she agreed, hearing how stiffly her voice had come out.

“You, perhaps not quite so much,” he said lightly.

“I still think there are too many of them,” she told him honestly.

He hummed, and she knew it was in agreement.

“And, I don’t seem to have that much in common with them,” she added, biting her lip.

“My mother seemed to think you were all getting along well, they have all been singing your praises,” Robb said, and she could hear the frown in his voice.

“Well, they were hardly going to tell your mother they think I’m a witch, were they?” she said pointedly, turning on her stool so she could face him.

“Have they been cruel to you?” he asked, his eyes almost burning.

“No,” she held his gaze. “They are just so quiet. The way they are, I am not used to it. I suppose I -,” she cut off, shaking her head.

“You what?” he pressed.

“I just…well, I miss Etta,” she finally voiced it, and he smiled sympathetically at her.

“She was with you a long time?” he asked, patting the space on the bed next to him.

“From when I was ten to when I left,” she answered, rising up to join him. “She was only a few years older than I was, at first she attended me with her mother, but after a few years her mother grew sick. Etta attended me by herself, and I refused anyone else.”

“Did you not wish to bring her to the North with you?” he asked, as she snugged down against him.

“I would have loved to, but I did not know what awaited me here. I didn’t want to drag her so far from home,” she told him.

“And into such potential misery,” he guessed astutely, and she pressed herself closer to him.

“If I had known it would be like this, perhaps I would have considered it,” she said. “But even so, her family is in the south. By now she may well have a husband of her own, a child, even. It’s best that she stayed behind, likely she is happier there as I am here.”

“Most like,” he said absently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Likely the nurses just need a little more time to settle in, no doubt everything will be just fine by the time the baby comes,” Myrcella said. It was optimistic to say the least, but she could already tell that Robb was feeling guilty, and she would not heap more on him.

“Most like,” he said again, and she tilted her head back so she could see his face.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” she asked teasingly, seeing the familiar crease between his brows that informed her that he was pondering something.

“There is much for a king to think about during winter, especially when his wife is with child,” he replied, and she frowned slightly.

“Is there something serious?” she asked. Robb had been absent more often than usual over the past weeks. It seemed there was always someone calling him away, needing his attention. Myrcella knew he could not leave Winterfell, but now she was wondering if there were those calling for him to.

“No,” he shook his head, smiling slightly. “Believe me, all this trouble is to be expected. The people grow frustrated that they cannot live and work as they are used to. We were looking forward to a longer summer than we were gifted with. The last winter took its toll on us up here, and it is still ever fresh in the minds of the people. They dread it lasting so long again, and so it is up to their king to reassure them, and to keep them warm and fed.”

“We have supplies enough, I have seen it myself,” Myrcella said, and he smiled again.

“It is not just the people of Winterfell in my charge though, is it?” he said rather heavily.

“Why did you not tell me?” she asked, shifting herself further up against him so she could meet his eyes properly.

“Because you have quite enough to worry yourself with,” he said, settling his hand down on her stomach, a smile coming to his face as he rubbed the roundness.

“I am perfectly well, and so is the baby, as you well know. I know you don’t want to worry me, but I am your wife, Robb. I want to know these things so that I can at least support you. Here I am moaning about having too many nurses while you are worried about the entire population of the North and the Riverlands,” she shook her head. “Forget I said anything.”

“Your worries are no less important than mine,” he soothed her.

“In this case, I imagine they are,” she returned, and he chuckled.

“The people will be fine,” he nodded his head. “They have survived worse, we all have. If the Gods are good this winter will be brief, and then perhaps we can look forward to another long summer. Our child will be wondering what all the fuss about winter is.”

“I hope so,” she smiled at him, and he leant in and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips.

“I can imagine them already, playing out by the pool in the Godswood. Kicking through the leaves when they begin to fall. I remember doing that as a child, before the first winter I remember came,” Robb sounded almost wistful, and she smiled again.

“The first winter I remember is the last one,” she said, and he nodded.

“And we can only pray it will be the worst you ever endure,” he said.

“It would have been worse for you,” she reasoned.

“Winter is in my veins,” he grinned, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Then our baby ought to be better equipped than I already,” she said.

“Exactly,” he nodded. “And you are doing wonderfully well at managing in the cold.”

“Likely because I never leave the keep,” she laughed.

“Well, I doubt the baby will have cause to do so either,” he retorted teasingly.

“How right you are, husband,” she giggled, and he leant in to kiss her again.

“We ought to get some sleep,” he said when he pulled away, as Myrcella did her best to stifle a yawn behind her hands.

“Hmm,” she agreed with him, slipping further down under the furs and shifting herself about until she found a comfortable position. It was getting more and more difficult the bigger she grew, and the baby seemed to become even more active at night. She wouldn’t complain though, she was just pleased that the precious little life was strong and thriving. A contented sigh left her as she felt a few gentle nudges within her.

“Are you comfortable?” Robb breathed.

“Yes,” she replied, and in the next moment he wrapped himself around her as best he could. She sighed even more contentedly, grasping onto his forearms and wriggling closer to him. By morning they would likely be splayed on opposite sides of the bed. She grew more restless as time went on, and commanded more and more space in bed. Still, she enjoyed drifting off to sleep in her husband’s arms, utterly safe and contented.

She closed her eyes, determining not to worry anymore about the nurses. If they didn’t like her there was not much else she could do to change their minds. No amount of ignorance from them would ever keep her away from her baby, and should they even think to try then they would find themselves quickly dismissed. Myrcella determined, as she slipped into sleep, that nothing in the world would ever stop her being a good mother to her precious child.


	32. XXVIII: Fears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it's been so long since a chapter was posted! My excuses involve moving house, starting a new job, and only just getting the internet set up! Hopefully I still have some readers out there!
> 
> Big thanks to all who left a comment or kudos in my absence. It is very much appreciated. Hope you enjoy this one, and I hope to be a more regular poster again from now on! 
> 
> :)

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

It was getting warmer. Not by much, but he could feel it in the air. The elder residents of Winterfell could feel it too, they had experienced far more winters than him. The fact that they were all determined that the air was warming made Robb more certain in his own belief. At first, he had thought it was wishful thinking, what with it only being mere weeks until his child was due to be born. He had had restless nights and troubled days thinking about such a small and defenceless little creature being born into such bitter cold. To everyone else he remained optimistic, constantly assuring them that winter would not trouble the baby one bit.

Privately, though, he had been pacing the hallways and all the rooms that the baby would be likely to inhabit, checking every corner and every window pane for a hint of a draught. If he felt the slightest thing he called the builders up to seal it. He would not allow the chill to enter the keep. For the most part it was as warm inside as ever it was, but during the last winter there had not been a baby in the keep. Now there soon would be, and Robb was both longing for it and dreading it.

It was a strange mix of emotions, he recognised that, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He wanted more than anything to allow the joy and expectation to take him over, but the thought of something going wrong would always seep in and take over. What if Myrcella didn’t survive the birth? What if the baby was born dead? What if he lost them both? Increasingly dark thoughts would trickle into his mind. He didn’t know how he would cope if any of them came to fruition. Losing the child would devastate him, and he knew it would break his wife’s heart.

Losing her…it felt like an icy hand gripped his heart whenever he thought it. She meant so much, where he had once imagined she would mean so little. Thinking of her no longer surrounding him, being his partner and constant companion, of being alone without her again filled him with such a dark fear. He didn’t think he would cope. He didn’t know how he would ever pick himself up. Would he be able to consider another wife? He stopped there. It felt wrong, following his fears that far. He would not even entertain the possibility of losing her. Not anymore. It was driving him half mad. The only thing worse was the thought of losing them both. What would he have then?

Robb shook his head to clear it. He really needed to stop thinking such morbid thoughts. Both Myrcella and the baby were both healthy and thriving, that is what the Maester had assured him of, and Robb could do nothing but bow to his superior wisdom in that matter. Myrcella’s fears had seemed to ebb away the closer her time came. Even now, with the birth mere weeks away, she was calm and relaxed. There seemed to be an almost glow about her, especially when the baby stirred inside her. Her eyes would light up in a way that never failed to astound him. He had to believe that they would both continue to be healthy, and that all would go as it should.

He sighed, tapping his quill on the edge of the inkwell. There had been a letter from Torrhen’s Square, they were struggling with supplies. Robb had hoped he would not have to worry about them, but it appeared that the film of ice over the lake had grown too thick to bore down to the water now. That meant they could no longer rely on their supply of fish. Consequently they were getting through their stockpile of grain too quickly, and they had not had the most bountiful harvest in the first place. He sighed again. There was not much he could do, and it bothered him. As King all he wanted to do was make sure his subjects were looked after and fairly treated.

Even if he were not King, it would have been his duty anyway as the Lord of Winterfell. During winter though, there was little he could do. At least the temperature was starting to creep upwards. Snowfall was becoming rarer, and hopefully they would be able to send supplies out in the next few weeks. It would still be a perilous journey along the roads, and would take far longer than usual, but what other choice did he have? As soon as the roads were deemed passable he would send a cart to Torrhen’s Square. Until then, all he could do was advise the steward to ration the grain. It would not be a popular decision, he knew, but he also knew that it was better for the smallfolk to be hungry than for them to starve. They likely wouldn’t see it that way, but in the long run it would hopefully save them from a cruel and painful death.

He dipped his quill into the inkwell before scratching out his reply. Hopefully the steward would heed his advice, and not go too far with the rationing. It had to be done just right, so the people would still get enough food in their bellies to survive. Hunger was something Northerners had to be used to during winter. Even Robb and his family had gone to bed with grumbling stomachs for several long months during the last winter. Everyone had to make sacrifices, like it or not, if they were to ensure their survival. He signed off the letter, and then set the hard wax above the flame to melt so he could seal it up.

As he waited for it to pool in the shallow bowl a knock came upon the door of the study. He called for his visitor to come in, smiling when he saw the Maester enter.

“Is everything alright?” he asked the older man.

“Of course,” came the reply. “Just some letters come for you, your Grace.”

“Thank you,” Robb smiled again. “You can take this and send it for me, to Torrhen’s Square.”

“Right away, your Grace,” the Maester bowed his head, setting the new letters down on his desk and waiting patiently for Robb to roll up his letter and press the seal into it.

“Thank you,” Robb said again as he handed the sealed letter over.

The Maester smiled and bowed his head again before retreating from the room. When the door closed behind him Robb turned his attention to the two letters he had been brought. The first bore the seal of Riverrun, and he snapped it easily, unrolling it to see what word his uncle had sent him. Robb had been expecting an update from Edmure, as he took care of ruling over the Riverlands. It was rare Robb himself was called upon to settle any matter or dispute. Edmure was perfectly capable of ensuring the laws were upheld and the borders protected; not that anything had threatened their borders in several years. _And I pray to the Gods it continues as such,_ Robb thought to himself.

He shook his head, reading to the end of the letter before allowing a smile. Everything in the Riverlands was fine, just as he had suspected. Of course, certain foods were in short supply, and some settlements were suffering more than others – but it was the same everywhere. Robb could attest to that. It was to be expected, and Edmure was more than capable of handling it. Robb set the letter aside, he would reply to it later. Now though, he reached for the second letter.

The seal made him swallow involuntarily hard. He had been expecting it, of course. In fact, it was he who had sent word first. It was not the reply itself that bothered him, it was the expectation of what was written within it. He took a breath before unrolling it and taking in the words carefully. The script was measured, neat and elegant. Almost feminine, almost like Myrcella’s. It was rougher though, easily identifiable as male if you really looked at it. He felt encouraged. Tommen had almost certainly written back in his own hand. That was a good sign, he felt sure of it. Feeling positive, he read on.

The tone was cautious, as Robb’s own had been when he had written in the first place. They may well be kin now, but neither he nor Tommen could likely forget the bad blood between their families. Robb thought of his father for a moment, his fingers twitching of their own accord. It was better than the fist-clenching that used to come – progress, at least. He sighed, and read on. By the end, a faint smile twitched at his lips. He had been hopeful that Tommen would grant his request. After all, it was for Myrcella really, how could Tommen have refused?

Satisfied, he set the letter aside. He would reply to that in the morning. His stomach was growling now, it was enough to distract him. Somehow he felt he would rather reply to his good-brother on a full stomach after enjoying a good nights’ rest. With another sigh he pushed back from his desk and made for the door. Closing it behind him he set off down the hallway towards the entrance hall. Halfway there he could smell dinner and his stomach snarled. He had not eaten since breaking his fast. Not many people took luncheon during winter, though he did insist that Myrcella and his mother both did.

The two of them were crossing the entrance hall as he emerged. Neither noticed him. They were arm in arm and chattering away happily. He decided against hailing them, allowing them to go on into the dining hall without him. His smile faded as he made to follow them in, his gaze drawn to the main doors, which the guards had just opened. It seemed the baker had come to pick up his supply of grain. He came daily at around this time, and always oversaw the transfer of it to the mill personally. That was why Robb was now frowning, because it was not Thom who had come, but his assistant.

He bit his lip, torn between his growling stomach and the need to know where Thom was. Winterfell had already lost one good baker during the last winter, he hoped they were not about to lose another. He strode towards the main doors, Thom’s assistant – Harry, Robb believed his name was – started as he approached, dropping into a low bow. Robb resisted rolling his eyes. Harry had clearly not been brought up at Winterfell. The people here were always courteous and would always bow their heads, but only at formal occasions and during court did they ever bow so lowly to him.

“Please, rise,” Robb told him kindly, and he straightened up, looking nervous.

“Your Grace?” he stammered slightly and Robb heard one of the guards suppress a snort.

“I wondered where your master is,” Robb got to the point. “He usually sees to this personally.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed. “Begging your pardon, your Grace, but the mistress fell sick and he did not want to leave her.”

“Ada?” Robb asked without thinking, clearing his throat and trying to keep his expression smooth.

“Yes, your Grace,” Harry confirmed.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “For Thom’s sake, and the children,” he added quickly.

“I will be sure to pass that on, your Grace,” Harry bobbed his head. That was more like it.

“Be sure that you do,” Robb said. “And, please, inform your master that the Maester will attend on his wife should she need it. He will not need any coin.”

“Yes, your Grace,” Harry bowed once more. “Of course, your Grace. I thank you on his behalf, your Grace.”

Robb held his hand up and forced a smile. He didn’t think he could stand one more utterance of _your Grace_. His head was swimming. “I’ll let you get on,” he said to Harry, turning and heading for the dining hall before he had to witness the young man bowing once more. It was only as he approached the high table that he realised that he didn’t feel all that hungry anymore. Still, he had been noticed now, Myrcella and his mother were smiling widely at him. He could do nothing but join them, and hope they did not notice his sour mood. If they did he would blame it on the news from Torrhen’s Square. That ought to placate them.

He took his place next to his wife, leaning in to peck her cheek before he pulled the nearest wine flagon towards him and filled his cup. That was one thing they never seemed to run out of, even during the winter – thank the Gods. “To your health,” he toasted his wife and mother on either side of him before taking a long drink.

“Are you quite alright?” his mother was the first to ask, though he could see the concern etched across Myrcella’s brow from the corner of his eye.

“Quite,” he twitched his lips up. “Torrhen’s Square are having trouble with their supplies is all.”

“Is it serious?” Myrcella asked.

“It could be, if nothing is done,” Robb answered her. “But I don’t plan on doing nothing, so don’t concern yourself. I will have a cart of supplies sent to them when the road becomes clearer.”

“And until then?” his mother frowned.

“They will have rations, whether they like it or not,” he grimaced.

“Well, if the men are to be believed then spring is coming,” she said buoyantly.

“Yes,” Robb agreed, taking some more wine before half filling his plate.

“Is that all you’re having?” Myrcella sounded concerned.

“I may have a little more, though I’m not that hungry,” Robb replied.

“But, you would not have had any luncheon,” she frowned.

“I’m perfectly fine,” he assured her, turning his head to meet her eyes for a moment.

She seemed satisfied, smiling at him and caressing the back of his hand for a moment before she reached for her own cup. A slight smile twitched his lips, her insatiable appetite for warm milk still amused him, even after all the months that had gone by. He forked some food into his mouth and chewed slowly, trying to keep his mind away from Ada. She must be sick. Really sick. Thom had not even missed coming to the keep when she had given birth to their son. He had arrived at the usual time with a huge grin on his face, announcing to all that would listen that his son had been born a mere hour before.

Thom had left her then, on her childbed with a new born, in the midst of winter. Yet, he would not leave her now. Robb worried his lip. He had long ago let go of any romantic attachment to Ada. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had been his lover. Now she belonged to Thom, and he belonged to Myrcella. Both of them had found true happiness, and Robb would not have it any other way. It would still pain him to lose her though, as a friend more than anything. Once the awkwardness had subsided he had enjoyed speaking with her on the occasions he had bumped into her in the town. Had enjoyed joking with her as they had both stood and watched Arya training her elder boys to spar.

Myrcella was fond of her too, he knew. He had been worried at first, though he needn’t have been. Ada didn’t want anyone to know about their previous arrangement any more than he did. Both of them were happy to keep it quiet and under wraps. Only his mother knew, and Robb could rely on her to be discrete in the matter. So, he had not dissuaded Myrcella from forming a friendship with her. It meant a lot to his wife that she had people in the town that were so nice to her. Thom and Ada had been the first to be truly welcoming and she had not forgotten it. When Ada had given birth to her third son Myrcella had sent a warm, fur lined blanket to her. It had been something she had been making for their own baby, but she had told Robb that she could easily make another.

Robb forced down another mouthful of food before taking another long drink of wine. He wanted to leave, but he knew the women either side of him would fuss if he did. No, best he continue on and wait for Myrcella to retire first. Her plate was cleared, likely it would not be long before she excused herself. Sleep was something she craved just as much as milk at this point in her pregnancy.

Sure enough, within five minutes Myrcella was stifling a yawn behind her hands. She turned to him apologetically. “Go,” he told her gently.

“But you only just arrived, I feel rotten,” she bit her lip.

“Myrcella, you’re tired – go to bed,” he said in an amused tone, and she smiled.

“Very well, but you must wake me tomorrow so we can break our fast together,” she said.

“Very well,” he agreed, knowing damn well she would never rise as early as he did.

“Goodnight, then,” she smiled, leaning in and pecking his lips. He savoured the warmth for a moment before she pulled back.

“Goodnight,” he returned, rising up to help her out of her own chair. Somehow she was still carrying herself with elegance despite her frequently telling him that she could no longer see her own feet to know where she was walking.

“Goodnight, Lady Stark,” she smiled at his mother, who returned the gesture.

“Goodnight, Myrcella.”

Robb sat himself back down, and both he and his mother watched the slowly retreating back of his wife. He tapped his finger lightly on the side of his cup as the doors were opened for her, and immediately sealed again as soon as she walked through them. The guards were well drilled by now, there was nothing else they could do to try and ensure the keep remained free of draughts.

“Would you like to tell me what the matter truly is?” his mother asked conversationally, and Robb sighed. He should have known better.

“I don’t think it’s a question of if I’d like to,” he said wryly. “It’s a question of whether or not you will let the matter lie if I do not. Will you?”

“No,” she returned at once, and he almost laughed.

“Ada’s sick,” he said quietly after a few moments, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

“How sick?” his mother asked just as quietly.

“Sick enough that Thom sent his assistant up for the grain this evening,” Robb informed her.

“Poor girl,” his mother sighed. “Winter can touch anyone, young or old.”

“She survived childbirth for the third time to be struck down by this. It doesn’t seem fair,” he muttered.

“No,” she agreed. “That poor boy, only a few months old.”

“You speak as though she is already dead,” Robb said bitterly.

“Forgive me,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean it that way, Robb. I only meant that – well – a child that young needs their mother. What will he be fed on? I cannot see Thom being able to afford a wet nurse.”

“No,” Robb agreed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“She meant a lot to you once, didn’t she?” his mother asked quietly. He nodded slowly.

“She did,” he confirmed.

“Then I will be sure to pray to the Mother for her,” she clasped her hand around his for a moment.

“Thank you,” he nodded briskly.

“Perhaps the Maester could see to her?” she suggested.

“I told Harry to pass the offer on to Thom,” he said.

“Good,” she said faintly, nodding in an absent manner as she patted the back of Robb’s hand once more before moving away to pick up her own cup.

Robb tapped his fingers against the table, looking sideways at his mother as he did so. She appeared to be drinking deeply. Though she had never approved of him taking Ada as his lover, he knew that she would not wish harm on her. It was such a cruel thing, Robb thought, especially for her children. Her eldest boys had already suffered the loss of a father, he closed his eyes tight for a moment and prayed that they would not also have to suffer the loss of their mother.

“I think I will retire,” he said when he opened his eyes again.

“Yes, of course. Good night,” his mother’s parting smile looked rather strained.

Robb tried to return it, bidding her farewell before making his way from the dining hall. He spoke politely to those who hailed him on the way, though inside he wished they would leave him be just for one night. Someone always wanted something. He almost snorted. That was one of the many perils of being king, he supposed. Finally he managed to break away from those holding his attention, slipping out of the door and up the stairs before anyone could stop him.

He slowed on the first landing, making his way towards his and Myrcella’s chambers. Doubtless his wife would already be asleep. He hoped so, anyway. When he reached their chambers he let himself in quietly, closing the door with only the slightest click. There was a slight stirring from the direction of the bed, but no sleepy voice or inquiry. He let out the breath he was holding before slipping further into the room and removing most of his clothing. Finally, he slid carefully beneath the sheets, careful not to catch Myrcella with his cold hands.

She was faced away from him, breathing evenly with her golden curls spread out across the pillow. He took a long moment to appreciate her through the darkness, his eyes better adjusting the more he stared. There was enough light cast by the fire by which to admire her, and admire her he did. There would never be enough time in his life to admire her fully, to revere her to the extent to which she deserved. He sighed, his fingers whispering along the pillow until they could curl around a lock of her hair. What would he do without her?

He shook his head. Earlier he had told himself not to think of such morbid things. Hearing of Ada’s plight had brought it all back to the front of his mind, though. Slowly he shifted further under the covers, moving closer to her. She continued sleeping peacefully as he released her hair and carefully crept his hand under the covers so he could rest it on her rounded stomach.

“I will keep you safe,” he whispered. To her, and to the baby. “I swear, whatever it takes, I will do it. I will do anything I have to, to keep you safe.”

With that he closed his eyes and fell into a restless sleep from which he was woken many times by cruel dreams in which a dying Ada would come to him, pleading for help. He tried his best each time, but each time she collapsed and died in his arms. Only, as he cradled her, her dark head shifted to the side and she was no longer dark but golden. Her eyes green and unseeing.

Once again, he jerked awake. How many times was his mind going to torment him like this? Like the times before, he turned his head to check that his wife was still there. Still sleeping peacefully and breathing easily at his side. She was. As she had been all the other times he had woken. He took a breath, wiped a shaking hand across his clammy forehead before he closed his eyes once more, praying that he would not be woken by that frightful image once more. 


	33. XXIX: Truth and Timing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Thanks so much for the response on the last chapter, it is so appreciated, especially after I have been absent for so long.
> 
> Also, extra extra big thanks for pushing my kudos to over 1000, that's just crazy to me. I am so glad that so many people have enjoyed my story. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you like the new chapter!
> 
> :)

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

 

“Oh, no,” Myrcella’s eyes widened and she raised her hand to her mouth. “How sad.”

“What’s that?” Robb asked from behind her, the sound of his scratching quill slowing.

“One of the townsfolk has passed,” she told him, her eyes still following the dark procession as they made their way towards the Godswood. She had been stood in the window waiting for Robb to finish penning his letter so he could accompany her to the Sept when she had spotted the small group making their way from the town. She was wondering if it was anyone she had met, perhaps someone who had been kindly to her?

“How do you know?” Robb asked, his chair scraping back.

“They’re taking the poor soul to the Godswood,” she said, and in the next moment his hand was on her shoulder as he joined her in the window.

“Oh,” his voice was small, and she glanced up at him. His eyes seemed to be shining with emotion, and her brow creased. Robb took everything to do with his people so hard. He had been so distracted lately, and she was sure it was because of the shortage of food at Torrhen’s Square. She had hoped that with the departure of a large cart of supplies this morning that his worries would abate somewhat. Now this. She wished she had not drawn his attention to it. As she watched him stare out of the window she tried to search in her mind for something to say, but nothing sounded right in her head.

“Oh!” she was saved the task of finding something comforting to say as the baby jabbed her hard in the ribs.

Robb’s attention was drawn at once, his hand mirroring hers as it went to her stomach. “Are you alright?” he asked her, eyes wide with concern, and more than a trace of fear. He was fearing the baby coming more than her, she knew just by looking at him. Her own fear was still there, but anticipation at meeting her baby overwhelmed most of them. She was determined she would live to hold her healthy child in her arms. That was what kept them mostly at bay.

“A hearty kick, that’s all,” she assured her husband, caressing the back of his hand with her own.

“It won’t be long, will it?” he met her eyes.

“Any day,” she smiled, and his own mood seemed to lift for a moment.

“You have everything you need?” he raised a brow.

“And more beside it,” she smiled again. “I do not think there was ever a woman so looked after.”

“Well, you are a queen,” he smiled widely.

“Hmm,” Myrcella matched his smile, tightening her grip on his hand.

“You still think we have too many nurses, don’t you?” he said knowingly, and she smiled sheepishly.

“Am I that obvious?” she asked.

“Just wait until the baby is born before you make any decision,” Robb said seriously.

“I will,” she promised him. “But I do wish they wouldn’t fuss over me so much.”

“It’s to be expected with your time so close,” he soothed.

“Well, at least I have escaped from them for the afternoon,” she said.

“Do you still wish to go to the Sept?” he asked.

“Please,” she responded. With her time coming closer and closer Myrcella found herself needing the Mother’s comfort more often than before.

“Come on then,” Robb slipped his hand away from her stomach and offered his arm. She took it gladly and allowed him to steer her from his study. Thankfully they didn’t see the matron or any of the nurses on the way out of the keep. Myrcella still felt awkward spending time in their company, but it was becoming harder and harder to avoid them. It made her even more apprehensive about the birth, but she kept reminding herself that Lady Stark would be at her side, and that should she command it the nurses would have to leave. There was no need of them in the chamber with her, she was set on just having the Maester and Lady Stark. Not that she had told anyone of her intentions yet. She would wait until the time came, surely no one would refuse her at such a moment?

If they insisted, then she would allow Jan to come in with her. She was the only one of the nurses who seemed to have an ounce of warmth within her. Once, Myrcella had caught her on her own, and the two of them had talked, and even laughed, until footsteps approached the door and Jan had turned away and become as frosty as the others again. Perhaps she was worried the others would be cruel to her if they discovered she had struck up a friendship with Myrcella. Still, she couldn’t understand it. Surely it would be better if they all got along? She shook her head, the second guessing was making it ache.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Robb’s voice drew her attention back to the now.

“Not unless you want to,” she smiled.

“I’ll help you up the steps, then take a turn about the town,” he smiled back.

“I’ll say a prayer for that poor soul while I am here,” Myrcella said. “I don’t suppose you have any idea who it could have been?”

“I’m not sure,” he didn’t sound entirely truthful. “But doubtless I will soon find out.”

“Doubtless,” she agreed. “I won’t be long.”

“Then I won’t be either,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead as they reached the top of the steps. She smiled in response and watched him make his way down the steps and across the courtyard. There was something strange about his behaviour. Perhaps the news of a death in the town had shaken him. It didn’t seem that likely though, several inhabitants had died during the winter so far. While Robb was always sympathetic, he had never been mournful. This though…well, there was something different about him. She determined to get to the bottom of it when he returned to collect her.

With a sigh she turned and made her way into the Sept. She started slightly when she realised she was not alone, but a small smile graced her face when she recognised her good-mother’s bowed head. As quietly as she could she made her way to the altar, kneeling down at Lady Stark’s side. Her good-mother did not turn her head, and so Myrcella bowed her own head and began her prayers.

They were the same as always, that her baby would be born strong and healthy, and that the Mother would show mercy and allow Myrcella to survive. She thought the words slowly and calmly, promising to raise her child to be good and honest, a boy in the image of his father. A girl to be virtuous and kind, as she had always tried to be herself, at the behest of her Septa. When her back began to ache from the weight of the baby she thanked the Mother and raised her head.

“Do you need a hand?” Lady Stark’s soft tones came from behind her at the action.

“I would be foolish to refuse,” she replied. “Sometimes I wonder that I may kneel down and never get back up again.”

“I’m surprised you’re here alone,” her good-mother sounded concerned as she helped her to her feet.

“Robb brought me, but then he took a turn about the town. No doubt he will be back soon,” she said.

“I’ll wait with you until he comes back,” Lady Stark said, taking a seat.

“You don’t have to do that,” Myrcella said, lowering herself down and rearranging her skirts.

“Oh, I do,” she smiled. “You ought not to be out of the keep alone when the baby could come at any time. I’m surprised Robb left you here by yourself, given how near to term you are.” 

“Robb seems… _distracted,_ ” Myrcella said carefully.

“In what way?” her good-mother asked in concern.

“I don’t know, there is just… _something_ ,” she shook her head.

“Likely it’s worry about you and the baby,” Lady Stark said soothingly.

“You think that would make him more attentive, not less,” Myrcella said.

“Myrcella…” her good-mother started, but seemed at a loss for what to say.

“Do you know something?” Myrcella asked. “Do you know what is troubling him?”

“A great many things, I don’t doubt,” she said. “You know how testing the winter has been.”

“It’s more than that, I know it,” Myrcella said.

“You ought not to fret, it’s not good for you in your condition,” Lady Stark cautioned.

“I cannot help but fret, he is my husband and it feels as though he is missing,” she shook her head.

“Then you ought to talk to him, tell him how you’re feeling,” her good-mother told her. Myrcella knew from that that if indeed Lady Stark did know what was wrong with Robb – she would not be telling her what it was.

“Yes,” she agreed, somewhat downheartedly.

“Myrcella,” Lady Stark lay her hand on top of hers. “Robb loves you, whatever is troubling him, that is a fact that will not have changed.”

“Thank you,” Myrcella managed a smile as footsteps sounded from behind. She turned her head and saw her husband approaching. A frown pinched at her forehead at once, his eyes seemed bloodshot. Had he been crying?

“I’ll leave you to it," Lady Stark murmured to her softly, squeezing her hand before rising up. She squeezed Robb’s upper arm and said something to him that Myrcella couldn’t catch as she left. It wasn’t until her good-mother’s footsteps faded away that Myrcella looked up at her husband again.

“Are you ready to come back to the keep?” he asked her, his voice slightly cracked.

“No,” she said. “I’d like to stay here a moment. I’d like you to sit with me a while, away from prying eyes and ears.”

“As you wish,” Robb said. He sounded slightly apprehensive about her request, but he came and sat by her side all the same. Myrcella was distracted from deciding how best to question him by the baby moving rather insistently. It was getting almost painful now, and she knew well enough that the little creature must be running out of room. _Not long now._

Robb’s hand came to her stomach at her distraction and she took a deep breath before lifting her eyes to meet his. “Would you tell me what it is?” she asked softly. “And please don’t say that it’s winter, or the baby, or worry for me…I know it isn’t. I know there is something. Would you please be honest with me, Robb, I cannot stop imagining the worst.”

“It was Ada,” he said in a small voice after several moments of quiet.

“What was Ada?” she asked with a frown.

“She died,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Oh,” her eyes welled with tears before she could stop them. Ada had been kind to her, _truly_ kind, long before she had found herself with child and found the other townsfolk softening. Thom, too, they had both been so kind. Myrcella imagined they had been the closest thing she had to friends here at Winterfell that were not kin to her. Ada had only just had her third baby a few months ago, and now she was gone. Her poor son would never know her, her older boys would likely be distraught without her.

“I’m sorry, I know you were friendly with her,” Robb said, his voice thick. It was as though he was fighting back his own emotions. That pierced through her own upset. Robb had never expressed any special fondness for Ada. That had her frowning, and she lifted her head again to look him in the eyes.

“I didn’t know you were,” she said.

“I -,” he seemed to falter, his eyes flickering away from hers. Guilt radiated from him.

“Oh,” she said, her voice catching in her throat.

“No,” he grabbed her hand. “No…not since you have come here. Not since long before.”

“But you and she…?” Myrcella asked him, eyes wide.

“After the wars were over and I returned here I confess I had dark times, and during that darkness I craved comfort, affection. Can you understand that?” he asked pleadingly.

She nodded, her voice seemed to have deserted her. Of course she could understand it. She wasn’t stupid. She had never expected Robb to have never laid with any other woman. When she had first come here she had imagined that while she was his wife, he would more than likely take a mistress. More than one, perhaps. He had pledged to be faithful to her, and she believed him. Ada must have meant something to him, though, for him to be so upset about her death. She could tell he was holding back most of his grief for her sake, but the emotion was still obvious to her.

“I knew I was not the first woman to share your bed,” Myrcella said. “I never expected to be.”

“You are the last woman,” he said fiercely, and she nodded.

“She must have meant a lot to you,” she voiced her inner feelings, and he visibly took a deep breath.

“During our time together, yes,” he said after a moment. “That all finished when she married Thom though. She was meant to be with him, though at the time I confess I did miss her in my life. But then you came, and I know that I am meant to be with you, as she was with him.”

“Did you love her?” she asked, barely managing to get the words out.

“No,” Robb shook his head, his eyes holding hers. She nodded. She believed him.

“She was a good woman,” Myrcella said.

“She was,” he agreed with her.

“You will miss her,” she continued.

“As a friend, I confess, yes, I will,” he nodded, and she bit her lip.

“We ought to make sure her older boys are taken further under Arya’s wing,” she said after a moment. “Likely they will need an escape from their grief. Besides, if they work hard in the tiltyard then one or both of them may reach a high enough level to become a squire. Perhaps a knight, one day.”

“Perhaps,” Robb nodded, looking at her rather strangely.

“What is it?” she asked fearfully, worried she had said something wrong.

“You,” he shook his head, his hand coming to brush some of her hair back behind her ear. “Your compassion…even after near a year together, it still takes me aback. You are so good, and kind, Myrcella. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

“Well, you impressed my grandfather enough that he felt pressed to make a pact with you. That is no mean feat, I think you have done plenty to deserve me,” she smiled and he returned it, some of the usual light returning to his eyes.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you about Ada,” he said sincerely.

“You didn’t want to hurt me,” Myrcella said, nodding her understanding. “It was in the past, long before you and I had met again. Long before our marriage, before this,” she placed her hands on her stomach.

“I thought about it, on occasion,” Robb said. “Telling you, I mean. I wanted to be honest with you. But then, I saw how you were becoming friendly with her, and I knew how much it meant to you to have someone kindly to talk to. I didn’t want to spoil that for you, make it awkward.”

“You don’t have to explain, Robb, you really don’t,” she assured him, reached her hand up to cup around his cheek.

He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm at the action, and she smiled. It already felt as though she had her husband back. The distance between them that she had felt so clearly over the past week had closed up. He was with her again, truly with her. It was almost enough to make her laugh, though the shock over Ada’s passing prevented her from doing so.

Robb leaned closer and pressed his lips to her forehead for a lingering moment before he folded her into his arms and held her as close as possible. She let out a breath, leaning her head against his chest and breathing him in. It was a blissful moment and she wanted to savour it for as long as possible. Apparently the baby had other ideas, as it was only a moment before she felt a sharp pain in her stomach and had to pull away from her husband’s embrace.

“What is it?” Robb asked as she massaged her stomach.

“I’m not sure,” she said in a pained manner, as another twinge panged in her stomach.

“The baby?” he asked.

She could do nothing but nod, the realisation slowly dawning on her. All day she had assumed that the baby was just more lively than usual, that the pains she was feeling were because her little prince or princess was running out of room. Now she thought back though, were they not just duller, lesser pains? Now they were heightened, almost painful enough for her to want to cry out. Certainly painful enough for her to grip Robb’s hand hard.

“Myrcella?” he was sounding urgent now, and she forced herself to speak.

“I think – ouch,” she cut off as another pain came. “Robb, I think it’s coming…”

“Oh…Gods…” his eyes were wide, and he looked around, as though expecting help to suddenly appear out of nowhere. It didn’t. They were completely alone here in the Sept, there were not even guards at the doors. Myrcella had been glad of the isolation earlier, wanting time alone with her husband. Now though she was cursing herself for not allowing him to take her back to the keep.

“Come on, let me help you up,” Robb said gently, his calm voice not quite masking the panic beneath.

Myrcella allowed him to wrap his strong arms around her, trying to get her legs to cooperate with what her mind wanted to do. She wanted to get back to the keep. She wanted to be in her own bed, surrounded by people who could help her. Her body didn’t seem to want to cooperate though, and her knees seemed to buckle after only a few steps.

“Perhaps I could carry you,” Robb said, though he sounded worried. She knew he would be apprehensive about carrying her across the snow and ice. What if he stumbled and dropped her? What if he fell and she landed awkwardly? It could hurt them. Worse, it could hurt the baby. She shook her head, trying to force her feet to take some more steps.

She managed three, and then she felt the warm water trickling from between her thighs, soaking part of her dress and her stockings. Without thinking about propriety or modesty she grasped her skirts and pulled them up. The water was tinged with blood, and for a moment her stomach lurched in horror. Robb gasped, and she knew that he too must have seen it. “It’s normal,” she told herself, and him. “It’s normal,” she repeated, remembering the Maester’s words.

“Are you sure?!” Robb demanded.

“Yes,” she managed in a soothing tone before the biggest pain yet rushed through her. This time she couldn’t help but moan out in pain, almost bending double as Robb did his best to keep her supported. “Robb, I don’t think I can get to the keep,” she moaned.

“No,” he agreed in a resigned manner, and she managed to peek up at him. He looked pale and distracted, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

“Robb,” she said. “I’ve never done this before, and I doubt you have any more experience than I do. You need to go and get the Maester…and your mother.”

“I can’t leave you here on your own!” he looked scandalised.

“What if something happens?!” she demanded. “We _need_ the Maester!”

“I know,” he almost hissed, his head turning between her and the door of the Sept.

“Just…set me down,” she gasped out. “I’ll be alright for a moment, it won’t take you long to find someone. Just…just be – careful on the…ice.”

“I will,” he promised her, already pulling off his cloak and laying it down on the floor next to one of the benches. Myrcella shifted until she was stood on the cloak and he helped her kneel down. She knelt on the cloak, her arms coming to rest on the bench. When another pain came she moaned out again and rested her head against her arms, rocking back and forth. The action was vaguely soothing.

“Myrcella -,” Robb started.

“Just go! Robb, please!” she managed to get out through gritted teeth.

“A few minutes is all!” he returned, and she could hear his hurried footsteps retreating away from her. Within seconds she was left with only the sound of her own deep breathing. Despite being alone and in labour she felt strangely calm. Even with the pain rolling its way through her on an almost constant basis she was not panicked. Now that the moment was here she finally came to the realisation that she could do this.

“I can do this,” she whispered to herself. “I can. I can do this. I can -”

It was near burning agony in the next moment, a cry of surprised pain leaving her as everything seemed to intensify. It was like fire between her legs, the overwhelming urge to push coming over her. Her next cry was strangled as she lifted her head and looked desperately towards the doors. They remained firmly closed and her stomach contracted again, the need to push now too great to ignore.

“Oh Gods…I can’t do this,” she shook her head desperately. “Oh…Gods…” she moaned, giving in and pushing down hard with everything she had, her hands gripping so hard against the bench that she could feel the wood splintering under her fingernails.

Tears were coming from her eyes now as the pain intensified even more. She could feel it. There was more than pain between her legs now, she could feel the baby. Before that realisation could overwhelm her she felt the urge to push again and she did as her body was demanding. It was all she could do in the absence of the Maester or anyone else. Oh, Gods. Where were they?

She had little time to think as she pushed down hard again, screaming through gritted teeth. She could definitely feel it now, the baby was coming from her. The head may even be born. She knew she should check, feel with her hands, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Looking down she could see the blood on the grey of Robb’s cloak. Would it be ruined? She almost laughed at the absurd thought, but then the pain swiftly took over again.

Obeying her body she pushed again as the doors of the Sept banged open. She didn’t even have the strength to look up and see who had come as she continued to push, her teeth mashed so hard together that she was adding more pain to her ordeal. The doors banged shut again, and footsteps approached. Her head swam.

“Myrcella?” it was Robb, and he sounded utterly dazed.

“It’s coming,” she panted. “It’s coming now, you need to catch it, Robb!”

Before he could even half-stutter a reply she was pushing again. Somewhere she was aware that he had knelt down at her side. She felt his hands shift her skirts up and about her waist. “Oh…Gods…” he sounded almost faint.

“Is it coming?!” she demanded hysterically when she could push no more.

“Yes,” Robb sounded stunned. “By the Gods, he is almost here.”

“He?” Myrcella asked him in a dazed manner.

“He,” Robb confirmed, and she turned her head to see his eyes as wide as plates.

“Catch him,” she said as the urge to push returned. She knew this would be the last one, that her son would be fully born if she could just summon her strength and do it one last time. Robb moved closer, she felt his hands brushing against her damp thighs as she pushed for the final time. She felt the baby come free from her and looked down.

He was slimy, coated in blood, his red face scrunched up in confusion and upset. His tiny little mouth opened and closed a few times as his tiny fists clenched. In the next moment he let out an almighty wail that echoed around the vast stone Sept, and he kicked and wriggled in Robb’s hands.

“Give him to me,” Myrcella managed to gasp out, shifting carefully back and reaching down to take the baby from Robb. He shifted back as she cradled the impossibly small creature in her arms, pulling him up against her chest. Her lips pressed to his head despite the blood still coating him. She was shaking with emotion and disbelief. This was not how she had expected her baby to come into the world, but he was here. He was here and he was squalling and perfect.

Somehow she managed to look up at Robb. He looked stunned, but as she met his eyes he seemed to spring into action. Hurriedly he unfastened his doublet before pulling it off and kneeling at her side. Ever so gently he moved so he could wrap his doublet around the uncovered baby. “They’ll be here soon,” he murmured. “The Maester and my mother, doubtless they will bring something for him. Something proper.”

“Never mind that,” Myrcella laughed shakily. “You have a son.”

“We,” Robb returned, a huge spreading across his own face. “We have a son,” he corrected her, his hand coming to gently cradle the back of the baby’s head. “Thank you. I cannot quite believe it,” he continued, pressing his lips against her clammy forehead. “We have a son.”


	34. XXX: Brand New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only apologise, my only excuse is real life! 
> 
> Seriously, thank you all for the kudos and kind words in my absence. 
> 
> I hope not to leave it so long again x
> 
> :)

 

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

He still couldn’t quite believe it. As he pulled his lips from Myrcella’s forehead his head was still swimming with the memory of his son being born right into his hands. They had been shaking so badly, but as soon as they had caught the tiny, messy, perfect baby they had steadied at once. He was in Myrcella’s arms now, cradled against her chest and grumbling softly. She looked up from gently hushing him and met Robb’s eyes, the most magnificent smile spreading across her face. He could do nothing but respond to her, trying to conjure up the right words. None came, but it didn’t matter because the doors of the Sept opened at that moment, and he looked towards them.

His mother visibly paled at the sight that greeted her, her steps quickening as she came towards them. The Maester looked less concerned, a smile spreading across his face as he too made his way over. “Oh, Gods, are you alright?!” his mother asked in a strangled voice, almost barging him out of the way as she knelt down next to Myrcella.

“Fine,” his wife responded. “He didn’t want to wait.”

“He?” his mother’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I am so pleased for you both!”

“Mother, shouldn’t the Maester…?” Robb placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Let me get out of the way,” she sounded more flustered than he had ever heard her.

He couldn’t help but grin as he rose up to his feet and offered his mother his hand so she could rise to her own. They embraced tightly for a moment, Robb peering over his mother’s shoulder so he could watch the Maester looking over the baby. From his bag he took clamps and a sharp knife, and Robb couldn’t help the turn in his stomach, though he knew it was only to cut the cord.

“I am so proud of you,” his mother whispered in his ear, and he closed his eyes tight against the emotion rising up in him.

“Thank you,” he returned quietly, and she squeezed him tighter for a moment before releasing him.

“The queen and the prince can be returned to the keep, your Grace,” the Maester spoke up then. “They appear in perfect health, though I will be better placed to attend on them there.”

“Yes, of course,” Robb said, stepping passed his mother to aid Myrcella.

Their son was now bundled in a swathe of thick blankets, cradled back against her chest. Robb helped steady her as she rose up to her feet, her grip on the baby tight. He wrapped his arm securely around her shoulders and steered her towards the door of the Sept. Hopefully the courtyard would not be too busy, he had been rather looking forward to announcing the birth of his and Myrcella’s child at a grand feast. He did not want the gossips seeing and spreading the word before he had the opportunity. Still, he smiled, they would not know whether the baby was a boy or a girl. He would still have the privilege of telling the people of Winterfell they had a prince.

His mother moved to Myrcella’s other side, and the Maester fell in behind them as they left the Sept, moving slowly down the steps. Robb’s eyes darted between Myrcella and the courtyard, not seeing many people milling around. It seemed that those who were near-by were focused elsewhere. Myrcella’s eyes, he could see, were all for the baby in her arms. There was such a wondrous look on her face as she gazed down at their son. Robb knew in that moment that her fears about being a bad mother were all unfounded. She would be a wonderful mother, just as he had always known in her heart. He only hoped that she would feel it in her own heart now as well.

There were a few servants in the entrance hall when they made their way in, and Robb shot his mother a significant glance. Obviously she understood his silent message, calling the girls to her at once as Robb supported Myrcella up the stairs. He could hear his mother’s kindly but firm tone, and he hoped the servants would heed her warning to keep quiet about what they had seen. Somehow he doubted they would be able to risk spreading the gossip, but he hoped it would not reach too far before the feast tonight. He had hoped to have Myrcella present at his side when he announced the birth of their child, but it would be impossible now.

“Here we are,” he murmured to her as they reached their chamber doors, opening them wide for her to pass through. She thanked him in a slightly distracted manner and he couldn’t help but grin as he saw her eyes still fixed on the baby.

“If I could see the prince, my queen?” the Maester asked gently as Robb closed the door behind him.

“What?” Myrcella looked up in a dazed manner, and Robb chuckled. “Yes, yes, of course,” she seemed to come to her senses, carefully offering their son out to the Maester.

He took him gently and moved to lay him on the bed, and Robb watched as he stretched out his hands gently, and then his feet. The Maester then bent closer to look at his eyes, a satisfied smile on his face as the baby smacked his little fist against his nose.

“A healthy Stark, to be sure,” the Maester declared. “He will need cleaning up, but doubtless your lady mother has already thought of that. I am sure you would also be glad of a nice, warm bath, my queen.”

“Yes,” Myrcella said, though she was still looking anxiously towards the baby.

“I assure you, he is perfectly well,” the Maester soothed. “We will have him all cleaned and swaddled up by the time to have finished bathing.”

“Thank you,” Myrcella sounded calmer now.

Robb wrapped his arm around her shoulders at that, pressing a firm kiss to her temple as a knock sounded at the door. The Maester went to answer it as Robb steered Myrcella to the bed. He settled her down and then gently raised his son up into his arms for the second time. There were still flecks of blood on him, but the Maester had done a good job of cleaning him up with what little time he had had. He gazed at him for a long moment before looking up to see who had come.

It was his mother, and she smiled widely at him as a procession of servants carrying steaming vats of water moved behind her. “I thought you would have need,” she looked towards Myrcella, a proud look in her eyes.

“Thank you, Lady Stark,” Myrcella said gratefully. Clearly the idea of a bath had grown on her.

“Come, I will help you,” his mother said, and she hesitated slightly before rising up.

“We’ll be fine,” Robb assured her. “I am sure the Maester is more than capable of assisting me.”

“Yes, I have bathed my fair share of new born babes,” the Maester chuckled.

“Very well,” Myrcella said, sounding assured as she allowed his mother to guide her back behind the screen where the tub was being filled.

Another servant then brought a small tub into the room, setting it down in front of the fireplace before curtseying quickly and leaving the room before Robb could even thank her. He could only assume that his mother had warned them not to linger once their job was done. Still, he was grateful and would thank them later. Now, though, he had his son for himself for a little while, and he was determined to savour the moment.

“Do you need my assistance, your Grace?” the Maester asked gently.

“You’re sure he’s alright?” Robb returned.

“As sure as I possibly can be,” he answered.

“Then, no, thank you,” Robb smiled at him.

“No,” the Maester agreed. “I didn’t think so. Congratulations, your Grace.”

Robb thanked him again as the Maester quietly crossed the room and let himself out, closing the door behind him. When he was gone Robb looked back down at his son, seeing his eyes gazing him at him, an almost confused look on his face. He couldn’t help but smile, thinking on how strange this must all seem to the tiny baby in his arms.

He could hear the gentle sounds of splashing water from behind the screen, and the hushed murmurs of his mother and Myrcella. The sound was incredibly soothing. It made it all real for him, the fact that he had a healthy son in his arms, and a healthy wife only a few feet from him. Later he would hold her close and savour the fact that he still had her, that she had survived. Right now though he would savour his son, and get him cleaned up and presentable for his mother.

“Come then,” he murmured, rising up and moving towards the fireplace. There were towels and blankets laid on the chair next to the tub, as well as the blanket that Myrcella had spent so long sewing in anticipation of their baby. Robb would make sure to wrap him in that when he was all cleaned up. Carefully he unwound the blankets his son had been wrapped in and set them aside before waggled his hands in the water to make sure it wasn’t too hot.

It appeared to be lukewarm to him, and so he knew it would be safe for the baby, therefore he carefully lowered him into the water, keeping one of his arms around him to support his head. At first his son seemed surprised, a little gasp and cry leaving him before he settled, his legs kicking slightly as Robb used his other hand to gently run a cloth across him to cleanse him. He couldn’t help but smile down on the marvellous little creature, still amazed that he and Myrcella had made him together.

He drank in all of his features, smiling as he saw himself in them. The little hair on his head was the same auburn. His mouth seemed similar, though Robb thought his nose seemed daintier, more Myrcella than him. He smiled. It would be nice to see some of both of them in him as he grew. A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts, and he hurriedly scooped the baby out of the tub and wrapped him in a towel as he rose up from the floor.

When he opened the door he found himself face-to-face with the matron and her army of nurses. In that moment he fully appreciated Myrcella’s apprehension at having so many of them. He felt entirely intimidated even though no one had yet spoken.

“Congratulations, your Grace,” the matron curtseyed and the nurses followed her lead.

“Thank you,” he said. “Uhm, come in.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” the matron said, bustling in as soon as he stood aside. “There is much to do, much to do…”

He could only stare as two of the nurses began stripping down the bed, and another moved to discard of the tub that Robb had just bathed his son in. The matron seemed to appraise the room before she moved forward and stood in front of Robb expectantly, her eyes flickering to the baby.

“Best he’s swaddled,” she said, and Robb had little choice but to hand him over. “Where is the queen?”

“Bathing,” Robb replied, feeling more than a little bewildered.

“Quite right,” the matron said briskly, moving to the newly stripped bed and laying the baby down on it before beginning to wrap him up tightly. The baby started to grumble at that, and Robb wanted to protest but before he could the matron was done and one of the nurses was handing her a blanket and wrapping it around his newly swaddled son.

“Actually,” Robb found his voice. “I had hoped to wrap him in this one,” he moved to snatch the blanket Myrcella had made from the back of the chair.

The matron seemed to stare at him for a long moment before she smiled. “Of course, your Grace, as you wish.”

In an instant the baby was swapped into the new blanket and the matron scooped him up off the bed, the two nurses immediately descending again to remake it. Robb could not help but be impressed at their efficiency, and he could do nothing but watch their work for a moment or two. He made to move towards the matron then, to reclaim his son, but before he could his mother and Myrcella emerged from behind the screen.

Myrcella looked tired but happy, her robe wrapped loosely around her as his mother supported her towards the bed. Robb smiled at her, though it did not escape his notice that she looked disgruntled at the arrival of the matron and the nurses. He did his best to express his sympathy without saying it outright, and she looked resigned to it as his mother settled her in the bed.

“Thank you, Lady Stark,” she said kindly. “Matron, would you be kind enough to pass me my son?”

“Of course, my queen,” the matron sounded rather sour, but she handed the baby over to Myrcella and then stepped back a few paces.

“I will come by tomorrow,” his mother said as Robb approached the bed. “All this is rather overwhelming enough. I will see to it that the feast is a grand one, so do not fret.”

“Thank you, mother,” Robb met her eyes to show her he truly meant it.

She seemed to understand him, squeezing his upper arm tightly for a moment before she bent down to kiss Myrcella, and then the baby, on the forehead. A few murmurs passed between the two women that Robb could not quite decipher, before his mother was smiling at him once more before making her way from the room. As the door closed behind her Robb moved to settled himself down on the side of the bed, looking down at Myrcella and their son once more.

“You did wonderfully,” he murmured to her.

“As did you,” she responded with a smile, before her eyes slid to the others still gathered. “You have been most helpful,” she addressed them, her smile more forced now. “But you can leave us now.”

“With respect, my queen, we really ought to be here in case you or the prince has need of anything,” the matron simpered. “Since you are to remain abed for at least a week.”

Robb could tell that there was an angry retort welling in his wife so he leant forwards and pressed a kiss to her cheek before whispering in her ear. “Humour them.”

She clearly grit her teeth then, he could hear it. “Of course, you’re most kind,” Myrcella said instead of whatever she was clearly thinking. “If you would all like to take a place by the fire I will call you over should I have need.”

They could not argue with that, though Robb could see the matron clearly trying to think of something. In the end, though, she agreed, and she and her flock of nurses made their way over to settle by the fire. Myrcella leant her head back against the pillows at their retreat and let out a long breath.

“They’re excited,” Robb tried to excuse them.

“I cannot wait for this week to be over,” she whispered to him. “Then they will have no excuse to be with me all the time. Honestly, Robb, I just wanted it to be you and me, and our son.”

“It is,” he soothed. “No one else matters in this moment. Forget they are even here. We need to think of a name for our boy.”

“Is thought really necessary?” she asked him with raised brows.

“What do you mean?” he returned, frowning slightly.

“I would have thought you would name him for your father,” she said, eyes wide.

“Would that be alright with you?” he asked awkwardly.

“Why would it not be?” she asked, shaking her head in a slightly bewildered manner.

“With all the bad blood between our families,” he explained, and she shook her head with a smile.

“Forget that,” Myrcella said firmly. “Your father was a good and kindly man who did not deserve the fate that my brother chose for him. I would be honoured to name our son for him, unless it is not what you want?”

“It is what I want more than anything,” Robb confessed, his eyes stinging.

“Then we are agreed,” she smiled widely at him, before looking down at their son. “Eddard Stark.”

Eddard began to grumble in the next moment, and Robb inched slightly closer as Myrcella rocked him, trying to soothe him. It did no good, his grumbles only intensified, threatening to turn to cries. “I think perhaps he must be hungry,” Myrcella said, her free hand moving to the ties of her nightdress.

The matron was there in a flash, one of the nurses stood a step behind her. Robb almost flinched at the suddenness of the movement, he had not even heard them coming.

“I will take him, my queen,” the matron said. “Clearly he wants his wet nurse.”

“I can feed him,” Myrcella almost snarled.

“It is not seemly, for a queen,” the matron returned. “Besides, you need rest to recover, and you will not get rest with the prince demanding to be fed every few hours. Best he comes to his wet nurse, and you can get all the rest you need to recover properly. I would hate for you to fall ill through exhaustion.”

“I -,” Myrcella began again, but Eddard’s wails intensified, cutting her off. He was nudging his head against her breast, and again she made to untie her nightdress.

“Your Grace, I really must protest,” the matron spoke up again. “It is best we take the prince and get him settled in the nursery with his wet nurse. That way it will avoid confusion and the queen will be able to get the rest she desperately needs!”

Robb was torn. He could see that Myrcella really wanted to feed their son herself, but at the same time she really did need her rest. The last thing he wanted was for her to fall sick because she was pushing herself too hard. He bit his lip. It would only be for this week while she was abed, and then he would give her leave to do whatever she wished about the matron and the nurses. First though, he needed her to recover her full strength.

“Perhaps you should give him to the matron,” he murmured to her, and he saw the look of betrayal in her eyes, her bottom lip beginning to tremble. He moved in closer at that, obscuring her face from the matron’s view. “She’s right, you need to rest,” he stressed to her.

“He wants me, Robb,” she protested, her voice catching in her throat.

“And he will have you, a fully recovered you,” he persuaded. “Just for tonight, at least. Tomorrow we can speak about it properly, and we can spend the whole day here if you like? Just you and me, and our son, what do you think?”

“Alright,” she said in a defeated tone, a tear slipping down her cheek.

Robb took Eddard from her then, and he seemed to scream all the louder on being taken from his mother’s arms. Myrcella let out a clear sob from behind him and he hated himself for handing the baby to the matron.

“We will leave the queen to rest, your Grace,” she said in an almost smug manner before marching from the door, the nurses scampering after her.

“I’m sorry,” Robb said in an agonised tone as he turned back to Myrcella as soon as the door closed behind them.

“I know I have to rest,” she sobbed. “But don’t you ever let them take him from me again, Robb. I swear, I cannot bear it.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, crossing to gather her up gently in his arms, part of him imagining that she might just push him away from her. Thankfully she did not, she held him back and cried, and he regretted his decision more and more with every second that passed of her sobbing in his arms. He could do nothing but apologise to her over and over again as he rocked her gently.

Eventually she stilled, and he pressed kisses to the top of her head and to her temple as she hiccoughed a few times. “I only did what I thought was best for you. I want you to be able to look after him properly, Myrcella,” he told her gently. “And right now you are exhausted and what you need more than anything is sleep.”

“I know,” she agreed, though he could tell it was grudgingly. “But they will not be in charge of what is best for him. If I want my son, I will have him, they cannot expect to protest to you each time and have you overrule me.”

“This will be the only time, I swear,” he promised her, and her expression softened.

“Good,” she said, leaning back against the pillows again.

Robb smiled at her, shifting himself so he could look down on her, stroking his hand gently through her hair as her eyes began to flutter. “You’re a wonderful mother to him already,” he whispered, and a smile graced her face. “I didn’t think it would be possible to love you more, to be even more proud of you…”

“I love you,” she told him sleepily.

“And I love you,” he returned as she sighed happily, her eyes staying closed this time. “Sleep now,” he soothed, “I will see you in the morning. We both will.”

She didn’t respond this time, and he smiled, leaning carefully closer to press a kiss to her forehead before he rose up from the bed and tiptoed to the door as quietly as he could. Myrcella stirred as he opened the latch of the door, but thankfully did not wake. He crept out into the hallway before closing the door behind him almost silently.

With that he made his way down the hallway towards the stairs. Halfway down them he could hear the noise of the feast and was impressed that his mother had got it all done so quickly. He made his way down the rest of the stairs, a grin on his face now that was refusing to fade. Entering the hall he was greeted as usual, and was pleased that it appeared few, if any, people knew that the baby had been born.

As he approached the high table though it became obvious that his mother had told the rest of his family, his siblings all grinning widely at him as he approached. He clapped Bran and Rickon on the back as he passed behind them, thanking them for their whispered congratulations. He ruffled Arya’s hair, knowing it annoyed her, though her scowl gave way to a smile as she congratulated him. His mother smiled warmly at him as he stood in front of his own seat and poured a cup of wine.

Slowly the occupants of the hall seemed to notice he had not yet sat, and they began rising from their own seats, looking towards him expectantly. His smile felt ready to crack his face as he waited for the last few folk to stand before beginning his announcement.

“Good people of Winterfell,” he began. “I am sure you can all imagine what I have to announce to you, since the absence of the queen is telling in itself, and so I will not keep you long as I know you are all hungry. I will only say that it gives me the greatest pleasure to announce that my wife, Queen Myrcella, this day gave birth to our first child. A son. A Prince of Winterfell, who I am honoured to name here before you – Eddard Stark!”

The roar was almost deafening, and Robb felt tears well in his eyes again. He could not look at his mother yet, having heard her slight gasp as he had announced the name. She would be pleased, he knew, but it would most likely have stirred her emotions as well.

“To Eddard Stark,” Robb raised his cup high now, and those gathered followed his lead. “Prince of Winterfell, and heir to the North!”

“Prince of Winterfell!” the called back. “And heir to the North!”

 


	35. XXXI: Motives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> I'm so glad I haven't kept you all waiting so long again! Just want to say thank you so much for all the comments that you left on the last chapter and a big thanks to one person who has recently found this story and left a comment on every chapter. I appreciate it so much, so huge thanks to everyone for taking the time to leave some comment.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> :)

* * *

_Myrcella_

* * *

She felt as though she had been gritting her teeth for the best part of the week. This was not how she had imagined it being after the baby was born. Instead of being absorbed in her baby, as she had wanted, it seemed as though everything was conspiring to keep him from her. Despite Robb’s promise they had not managed to spend a day together with their son. Though, it was not her husband’s fault, but the Maester’s orders.

Myrcella had woken in the small hours, the day after Eddard was born, sweat drenching her and her vision blurred. Vaguely she remembered Robb’s hands on her shoulders, the back of his hand pressed against her forehead and his panicked voice calling out for the Maester. He had come quickly and soon came to the conclusion that a fever was upon her. The worry was that she had an infection from childbirth. Myrcella was not stupid, she had known that meant she could die. Her worst fears seemed to be coming to fruition, but then, almost as soon as it had come the fever had broken.

Robb had been beside himself, kneeling at her bedside and thanking the Gods over and over as he pressed kisses to her hand. She still felt weak, only able to stomach a thin broth and water. The Maester was pleased with her, though he had been strict about her being kept away from her son. That had frustrated her more than the fever, which had been gone for three days now. She was hoping that when the Maester came today he would lift the ban on her seeing Eddard.

She was desperate for him. Her breasts ached, milk leaking from them almost constantly. She could also hear his cries through the walls which broke her heart. She wanted her boy, her precious baby, back in her arms where she could see for herself that she was safe. Robb assured her he was fine, and she tried her best not to be resentful of him for the time he could spend with their son. Her husband always had such a sparkle in his eyes when he returned from the nursery, and Myrcella quietly seethed each time. It was cruel of her. She did not want to deny her son both of his parents – but Gods, she _missed_ him.

The matron, Herda, had started coming daily to give Myrcella updates on how well Eddard was doing. She did this when Robb was away from their chambers, and Myrcella hated staring at her smug face as she explained that her son was thriving. The way the woman spoke it was as though Eddard was better off with her and the nurses than he would be with Myrcella. Myrcella had no doubt that the woman was glad that she had been sick, so she could keep her baby from her. Perhaps it was paranoia, but she could not shake the fear. In the end she was ready to snap, but somehow she kept herself calm and asked Herda if she would send Jan to her in the future as she would rather the matron stayed in the nursery with the prince.

Herda had agreed and Myrcella was thrilled with her own excuse. At least she would not have to put up with smugness from Jan – hopefully. She sighed and leaned further back down against the pillows. If the Gods were good she would be allowed out of her bed tomorrow, and then nothing and no one would be able to stop her from seeing her son. Herda and her nurses, and anyone else, could all burn in the seven hells if they even thought to stop her.

Her fists clenched as she thought that, her teeth grinding again. A knock sounded at the door then and she forced herself to relax, bringing what she hoped to be a serene smile to her face. She would not let anyone see how much this was affecting her.

“Come,” she called out to her visitor.

Unsurprisingly it was the Maester, and he smiled at her as he entered, closing the door behind him. Myrcella returned his smile as he approached the bed. “How are you feeling today, my queen?” he asked her kindly, coming to a halt at her bedside.

“Very well,” she told him, it was true. Aside from being frustrated beyond belief at being stuck here in this room she felt in perfect health.

“You certainly have more colour,” the Maester commented, the back of his hand coming gently to her forehead. “And no more clamminess. Have you managed your meals?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “It has been wonderful to have something other than broth.”

“Good,” he smiled indulgently as that, and she beamed back. _Please, let me up._

“So, do you think I am well enough to come from my bed tomorrow?” she asked hopefully.

“If you promise me you will not over exert yourself,” he looked at her pointedly.

“The only thing I wish to do is visit the nursery and hold my son,” she told him, meeting his eyes.

“Then, I am delighted to allow you up,” the Maester bowed shortly.

“Thank you,” she told him meaningfully, and he smiled again.

“I will leave you in peace, my queen,” he said. “Make sure you still continue to get plenty of rest.”

“I will,” she promised him, and he bowed once more before retreating from the room.

Myrcella sighed when she was left alone once again, turning her head and eyeing the book on the side table. She had been trying to read it for the past few days – Bran had brought it for her, sure it would be something she would enjoy. No doubt he was right, but she was just unable to concentrate on it, barely managing a few pages so far. She turned away from it, drumming her fingers on the bed and hating the fact that time seemed to be moving so slowly. It was tempting to get up right now. What difference would it make? It was late afternoon now, and in the morning she was allowed up, so why not now? Just to move from the bed would be wonderful.

Just as she decided that moving to the chair in front of the fire would be perfectly acceptable and begun to push back her covers, the doorknob turned and she hurriedly drew the covers up again. It was Robb, and he beamed at her as he slipped through the door, keeping it slightly ajar behind him.

“I just saw the Maester on my way up,” he said, his tone telling her he had heard the good news.

“I cannot wait for tomorrow,” she told him honestly.

“I know,” he nodded, looking at her with slight concern.

“I’m fine,” she assured him.

“I know that too,” his demeanour brightened. “I have a surprise for you.”

_You have dismissed the matron and her flock?_

“What’s that?” she asked curiously.

“See for yourself,” he smiled, stepping aside and opening the door wide.

For a moment, all Myrcella could do was stare, and then finally her mind believed what her eyes were showing her.

“Etta!” she almost screamed, and her old handmaiden beamed, half-running towards her bedside.

Myrcella pushed the covers away then, and pulled herself up further, her arms outstretched to the woman she had been missing for so long. Only now she had seen her again did she realise quite how much she had been missing her. Etta came into her embrace and Myrcella held onto her tightly, tears spilling from her eyes. “Gods, I’ve missed you,” Myrcella almost choked out. “How are you here?” she pulled away, looking at her in disbelief. “How did you get here in the midst of winter?”

“The snows melted in the south many moons ago,” Etta told her, her cheeks shining with tears of her own as she reached forwards to tuck a lock of Myrcella’s hair behind her ear.

“And they are melting swiftly here,” Robb added in amusement from the door.

“You did this?” she gazed wide-eyed at her husband. “When?”

“I wrote to your brother a while ago,” he told her.

“But you didn’t say anything,” she shook her head disbelievingly.

“I didn’t want to get your hope up, in case Etta was delayed in her journey, or if she could not come at all,” Robb explained to her.

“But you did, you came,” Myrcella turned back to Etta, beaming.

“Of course I did, I was so pleased when the King came to me personally to ask,” she smiled. “I am only sorry I did not get here before the prince arrived. I wish I could have been here for you.”

“It happened so quickly, it does not matter, you are here now,” Myrcella gripped her hand.

“So, you like your surprise?” Robb asked.

“Very much,” she beamed at him. “It is the best surprise I could have asked for.”

* * *

Etta stayed with Myrcella when Robb went to dinner. He had been dining with her since she had taken ill, but now she was better and had a companion with her he felt it time he showed his face in the dining hall. Myrcella had encouraged him to go. As much as she loved her husband, she wanted to spend some time with her oldest friend. To hear all the gossip from King’s Landing. While she exchanged many letters with Tommen, her brother had never been one for gossip – he had more important things to worry about.

Etta was brushing Myrcella’s hair through as she nibbled on a piece of lemon cake. Myrcella had been astounded when Lady Stark had brought it up for her. Apparently everything in Dorne was fruitful once more, and a ship had docked in White Harbour carrying all kinds of foods that they had not had in so long. Lemon cakes were Lady Stark’s favourite, and she had ordered some baked at once. Myrcella had always preferred orange, but it had been so long since she had had any kind of fruit that the cake tasted heavenly.

“Your hair could use a wash,” Etta told her as she continued to brush. “Perhaps I could call for some water for a bath? And afterwards I could set it in rags for you, enhance your curls. I always did envy your hair. Mine is so dull and straight, no matter how many times I tried I could never get it to curl more than a little at the end.”

“Yes,” Myrcella agreed. “A bath would be most welcome. Would you call for one tonight? I do not want to waste any time tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Etta said. “What plans do you have tomorrow, my queen?”

“I want to see my son, it seems like an age since I last held him in my arms,” Myrcella could hear the longing in her own voice, and Etta stopped brushing her hair – placing the brush down on the side table before moving round and settling herself down in front of her.

“You were sick, it’s not your fault,” Etta soothed her, and she nodded.

“In truth I -,” she hesitated a moment. “I just want him away from the nurses.”

“Why?” Etta asked her with a frown.

“Because I am certain that they hate me,” Myrcella said, finally admitting it out loud.

“Have you told the King?” Etta asked her, concern evident on her features. Myrcella had never adored her more than she did in that moment. Etta had believed her at once, with no questions or interrogations.

“I have no proof,” Myrcella scowled.

“So,” Etta shrugged. “You’re the queen, and his wife. He ought to believe what you say. If you don’t want them here, then you ought to just get rid of them.”

“I can’t do that,” Myrcella shook her head.

“Why not?” Etta asked, frowning.

“Because that is something my mother would do,” Myrcella told her calmly. “It has taken so long for the people to start to accept me – even now I know not all of them have. If I just dismiss them, with no proper reason, then they will all start to whisper behind their hands again. The matron and the nurses are from the North, the people will not take kindly to their own people being _mistreated._ ”

“But it sounds as though they are mistreating you,” Etta said, clasping her hand. Myrcella shook her head, and her friend sighed. “It sounds as though there is only one thing that you can do then.”

“What’s that?” Myrcella looked at her, something akin to hope stirring inside her.

“We get proof,” Etta said firmly, and Myrcella smiled widely.

“That simple,” she said with a raised brow.

“They don’t know you’re getting out of bed tomorrow, do they?” Etta asked her.

“No,” Myrcella replied, “they have absolutely no idea.”

* * *

Etta helped her dress and fixed her hair up the next morning, Myrcella was grateful as her legs were a little shaky after being abed for so long. She scrutinized herself in the mirror as Etta slipped the last few pins into her hair to keep in in place. The Maester was right, she did have some more colour back in her cheeks, though she did still look a little pale. Likely it was just because she had not been outside in so long. Still, all that could change today. She could leave her chamber and visit her son, and go outside and breathe the fresh air into her lungs. Gods, she could not wait.

“Done?” she asked Etta almost impatiently.

“Yes,” Etta replied. “Come on then, let’s get you out of here.”

Myrcella grinned at her, standing up from the dressing table and making her way to the door. On the way down the hallways she saw several of the servants. Instead of the averted eyes she was used to, the cold eyes from some, she received warm smiles and blessings of good health. It made her hold her head up higher and feel much better about her position as she made her way towards the nursery.

When she reached the door she wanted to walk right in and take her son up in her arms. She wanted to take him from that room and never let him return there again. She wanted him to herself. Surely that was her right after all the days without him? Instead, though, she forced herself to pause as she noticed that the door was ajar and voices were floating out. She stepped closer, gesturing Etta to be quiet as she moved herself closer to the gap in the door to hear what was being said.

“I suppose you will be off to visit the _queen_ , soon,” one scathing voice said.

“I expect so,” Myrcella recognised Jan’s meek tones.

“Best friends, are you?” another sneered.

“You always seem to spend such a long time in her company,” came another drawl.

“She is concerned for her son,” Jan said slightly defiantly, and Myrcella felt a surge of affection towards her. Perhaps they were not all bad.

“Why?” the matron’s voice snapped then.

“Well…I imagine…because…because he is her child,” Jan stammered.

“He is a child of the North. A Prince of Winterfell,” the matron stated angrily.

“Yes,” Myrcella had to strain to hear Jan’s response.

“Not a southern brat,” another voice said, and Myrcella bristled.

That did it.

Myrcella drew herself up to her full height and glanced at Etta, who nodded encouragingly. With that she pushed open the door and stepped through, taking immense satisfaction in the looks on the faces of four of the women present. Jan just averted her eyes, shrinking back against one of the walls as though to hide herself from Myrcella’s heated gaze.

“My queen,” the matron seemed to recover first, dropping into a hasty curtsey which the other women were quick to emulate. “We were not expecting you today, this early.” She was definitely flustered, and Myrcella took a moment to enjoy it.

“I came to see my son, since the Maester has declared me to be in perfect health,” Myrcella said sweetly, striding purposefully towards the cradle. No one spoke up to stop her, though she could practically feel them all exchanging glances behind her back. Myrcella decided, as she bent down to scoop up her son, that she would allow them all a moment to imagine that she had not heard a word of their exchange. Perhaps it was petty, but they had made her miserable, and she wanted to enjoy this moment.

“Is he feeding well?” Myrcella asked, turning back to face them as she rocked her son gently.

“Very well,” the matron’s curt manner seemed to be returning. “He is very attached to his wet nurse, and the Maester is very pleased with the way he is thriving.”

“Wonderful,” Myrcella gave them her most dazzling smile before she looked down at her son, a real, genuine smile of affection taking over as she gazed at him. He was so beautiful. Bigger now, than when she had held him after his birth, but all his features still so recognisable. His eyes were the most striking, turning more blue now. She was certain then that he would have his father’s eyes.

“You will all, with the exception of Jan, pack away your things and prepare to return to White Harbour,” Myrcella said quietly as she continued to rock Eddard, her eyes not leaving him as he clenched his little fists and squirmed slightly in his blankets.

“My queen?” the matron stammered, her eyes bulging slightly.

“Did I say something that you did not understand?” Myrcella asked, finally raising her head to look at them and seeing Etta standing in the background grinning encouragingly. She tightened her hold on her son and turned her eyes to the matron in a challenging manner.

“Is the prince not a little young for travelling?” the matron asked. “The king made no mention that he was planning to foster him so early…”

“The prince will be staying here, in his rightful place,” Myrcella smiled sweetly.

“But…then…?” the matron was definitely flustered now.

“You seem confused, Herda,” Myrcella said innocently.

“Well, yes, I must confess, my queen,” she said. “I wonder why we should be dismissed in such a manner – the king seemed most pleased with the care we are taking of the prince.”

“Yes,” Myrcella nodded. “But I do not think he would be so pleased about the way you have been discussing his wife.”

“My queen?” she flushed.

“The next time you speak that way about your mistress, you should think to close the door properly,” Myrcella said, her tone icy now. “Yes – my son is the Prince of Winterfell and he is of the North, as his father is. However, he is also _my_ son, and whether you like it or not I am from the south, but that does not make my son a brat – and it does not mean you can freeze me out of his life. He will be raised according to the customs of _both_ of his parents, and I need to know that his nurses will respect that. You, clearly do not, so you will prepare to leave and I will see to it that a carriage is prepared for you for the morning.”

With that, Myrcella made her way towards the door, Etta’s smile now almost splitting her face as she approached. Etta opened the door up for her and winked as she made to pass through it. She paused, however, and turned back, her eyes finding Jan.

“Jan, would you care to join us?” Myrcella asked her, and the young woman nodded, despite the icy stares of the other women surrounding her.

“My queen, I really must protest -,” Herda began.

“Then you can protest to the king, I have nothing else to say to you,” Myrcella said with finality before she strode through the door, Etta and Jan quick on her heels.

She could hear an explosion of voices from the nursery, and she couldn’t help but smirk. Part of her was a little worried that Robb would be angry with her for her rash action – but she had her reasons and as soon as her husband heard them he would be on her side. She knew it. Besides, now Jan was free of the others she was sure the girl would speak far more openly. She would get the full truth of the matron’s motives one way or another.

Once back in her chambers she asked Etta to get some wine, and indicated for Jan to take a seat next to the fire. The girl looked nervous, her cheeks pale and her eyes darting around the room. She sat though, moving her shaking hands to lay in her lap as she continued to glance around. Etta placed a cup of wine in front of her in the next moment, and Myrcella moved to take the seat opposite her.

“You’re not in trouble, Jan,” Myrcella told her, meeting her eyes.

“I was afraid,” Jan blurted out. “They are all so much older than I am, they said I was in a position of privilege and if I didn’t do what I was told then I would never be able to serve in a high-born household again. I could not risk being disgraced, my queen, I am sorry…but my family would have been so ashamed of me if I had lost this position.”

“You have not lost your position,” Myrcella soothed. “You shall be the in charge of the prince’s care, along with Etta, when I have other duties to attend to. You showed me kindness in there, Jan, even with them all standing against you. That was brave, my son will learn a lot from you.”

“You are too kind, my queen,” tears were streaking down Jan’s face now.

“Hush now, there is no need for tears,” Myrcella told her kindly. “They will be gone come morning, and you have nothing else to fear. Your position is safe, I only ask that you explain to me exactly what the matron had planned for my son.”

“She thought it best he was raised as far apart from you as possible,” Jan said, voice barely more than a whisper as she stared down at her hands. “She didn’t want the southern influence infecting him, since…since…” she seemed unable to continue.

“Since my mother,” Myrcella said bitterly, and Jan nodded her head before staring back down at her hands again.

“I tried to say you were kindly, but they were so certain that it was an act,” Jan told her desperately.

“I understand, Jan,” Myrcella told her, feeling deflated.

“Wine, my queen,” Etta practically forced the cup into her hand. “This isn’t your fault, if they cannot see how kindly and fair you are then they are clearly far too blind and ignorant to be allowed to look after a child as precious as the prince. You have done the right thing.”

“I hope Robb sees it that way,” Myrcella frowned, worrying at her bottom lip.

“The king ought to believe you above all others,” Etta said firmly.

“I will tell him what they planned, my queen, if you like?” Jan looked up.

“Yes, perhaps,” Myrcella said faintly, glancing down at Eddard for a moment before she took a sip of the wine that Etta had brought her.

“The most important thing is you have the prince away from their influence before he was old enough to remember any of their poison,” Etta told her, her hand clasping her shoulder tightly.

“Yes,” Myrcella nodded determinedly, her steely resolve returning. “Yes, you’re right, the Gods only know what they would have said about me to him as he grew. I could not have borne it if they had managed to turn him against me.”

“Now, thanks to your action, that will never happen,” Etta soothed her.

“Yes,” Myrcella agreed. “Yes, he is under my care now, and I will not allow anyone to falsely influence him. Not now, and not ever. My son deserves far better than that.”


	36. XXXII: Settled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait guys! Honestly, time has run away with him and I can't quite believe how long it's been since I updated. My excuse is I've been busy with work, and the small matter of growing a new person.   
> I do hope to try and get this story finished before the little person appears, or at least almost finished!  
> Anyway, I want to thank you all for the kudos and the comments you've left in my absence. It's much appreciated, I can't tell you how much.  
> Love to you all, hope you enjoy this one!  
> :)

 

* * *

_Robb_

* * *

 

He was utterly bewildered. They had come in like a storm, two had been sobbing uncontrollably and Herda had appeared to be shaking with suppressed rage as she told Robb that she and her maids had been dismissed. His head was spinning with the news that Myrcella had made such a decision and he finally managed to get out that he would speak with her. He sent Herda and her maids to wait in one of the parlours and sat still at his desk for a long moment, trying to get his head around what he had just been told.

Despite what had been said he could not imagine Myrcella taking such drastic action without good reason. Herda claimed to be completely ignorant as to why his wife had suddenly decided to be rid of her and the maids. It was only now, as he sat alone, that he realised that one of the maids had not been present. Was her name Jan? He thought it might be. Remembering back he recalled that Myrcella had told him once that though Jan seemed shy she also seemed the most kindly. Perhaps his wife had not dismissed _all_ the maids, as he had been led to believe. He was now coming to realise that there was far more to this, and the only way he would get to the bottom of it was by speaking with Myrcella.

Robb rose up from his chair and made his way slowly out of his study. The last thing he wanted to do was upset his wife by sounding accusing, but he did need to know why she had dismissed them without speaking to him about it first. It was very unlike her, now he was really thinking about it, and it made him even more certain that she must have a _very_ good reason. Gods. He hoped those women had not allowed any harm to come to his son. As that thought came into his head he took the steps two at a time and half ran down the hallways towards his and Myrcella’s chambers.

On reaching the door he almost fell through it, heart pounding wildly in his chest. Myrcella looked up with wide eyes at his entrance, and he almost forgot his reason for coming when he set eyes on her. She looked radiant again, no longer pale and sickly. Her hair was shining and set beautifully, and to complete the image of perfection she was cradling their son in her arms as he fed contentedly from her breast. He blinked stupidly, trying to remember why he had come. Myrcella seemed to know though, and she shifted

slightly in her seat, biting her lip gently before she spoke.“You’ve seen the nurses,” she said quietly, eyes set on him.

“Yes,” he responded calmly.

She nodded, glancing at Etta and Jan before she looked back towards him, clearly trying to gauge his mood. “Etta, Jan,” she spoke after a moment of appraising him. “Would you please take Ned back to the nursery and settle him – he seems to have finished feeding, and I’m sure he is ready to sleep.”

“Of course, my queen,” Etta came forward to ease Ned carefully from Myrcella’s arms as Jan darted passed him to the door, holding it open as Etta bustled passed and out. Before he could say anything the door was closed behind them and he was alone with his wife. Myrcella stood then, smoothing her skirts before lifting her head and meeting his eyes.

“I suppose you want to know why I did it,” she said.

“It would be nice,” he replied. “I thought you would have discussed it with me first.”

“I would have done, but I was so angry, I had to,” she told him.

“Did something happen, with Ned?” he asked her anxiously, stepping closer.

“No, that’s why I dismissed them, before something did,” she replied.

“I don’t understand,” he frowned, grasping hold of her upper arms gently.

“I believe they had intentions to keep him from me as much as possible,” she told him, meeting his eyes. “They were speaking about me in such a dismissive manner, and…well, they said that Ned was a northern child and not a southern brat. They did not want him influenced by me, and so I do not wish him influenced by them. I want them gone, I trust Ned will be well cared for by Etta and Jan when I am doing my duties.”

“Gods, Myrcella,” he shook his head before pulling her into an embrace, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You did the right thing. They are only lucky I did not hear this first hand, or they may well have found themselves in a cell rather than in a carriage back to White Harbour.”

“People will talk,” she sounded fearful as she pulled back slightly.

“And I will correct them, be sure of that,” he said. “They ought to know by now that I will not tolerate disrespect to my queen.”

“This only proves that not everyone has accepted me,” she sighed.

“You will never gain the approval of everyone,” he smiled widely at her. “Do you really think every northerner approves of me? So long as we hold the approval of the majority our family will remain in favour – but I think it impossible to be loved by everyone.”

“I suppose you are right,” Myrcella smiled back at him.

“It has been known to happen,” he chuckled.

“Thank you, for believing me,” she told him seriously.

“I’m your husband,” he held her eyes. “I will always believe you.”

* * *

Myrcella was insistent on seeing the matron and her nurses leave with her own eyes. Robb was wary of her health, but knew better than to deny her, only insisting that she must wrap up warmly. Winter was definitely subsiding now. Any snow flurries that came were short and light, and rarely settled. On the rare occasion snow did build up on the ground, it quickly melted away. There were only a stubborn few inches left now, not enough to impede horses or carts any more. Robb imagined that there would soon be a raven from Old Town declaring that winter was officially over. Following that, he imagined there would be an invite from the Capital. He expected it, but was not looking forward to it. The only good that would come from it would be Myrcella’s happiness on seeing her brother again.

He turned his head to observe his wife as they crossed the entrance hall side by side. She looked beautiful in a green woollen dress that brought out her eyes, fine grey furs draped about her shoulders and the delicate gloves he had bought her many moons ago adorning her hands. Seeing her hands encased in them reminded him of the snow fight they had had, they had all been so carefree and happy that day. Sometimes he wished they could go back and stay in that moment forever. It could not be though, and despite the tensions that still lingered between Myrcella, himself and Arya, he now had a perfect son, and he would never wish him away. Not for the world.

He reached out and took his wife’s hand as they approached the doors, the guards opening them wide to allow them through. They both voiced their thanks as they passed through, the doors promptly closed behind them as they made their way down the steps. Robb had insisted that the matron and nurses spend the night in the inn in Winter Town, not wanting them in the keep any longer. Their carriage was waiting by the gate, and Myrcella tugged on his hand slightly, letting him know that she would lead the way. He happily allowed her to take them up onto the ramparts, walking along the top of them until they came level with the carriage.

She came to a halt then, her hand squeezing his slightly as they watched Herda lead her flock back through the gates. The dismissed matron seemed to look about her warily before she ushered the maids up into the carriage. She then looked about again, this time finding him and Myrcella on the ramparts. Instead of looking at Herda he looked at his wife, seeing her eyes set and narrowed on the disgraced matron. It seemed that Herda gave up first, turning her head to the ground before hauling herself up into the carriage. He looked at Myrcella again and saw a satisfied smile on her face as she watched the carriage begin to roll away.

Robb squeezed her hand reassuringly, proud of her reaction. In that moment he truly appreciated that she was a real queen, and he was thrilled to be able to call her _his_ queen. He moved closer, pressing a kiss to her temple as she watched the carriage disappear into the distance. “And good riddance,” Myrcella murmured as he pulled her even closer.

“May I insist you return to the keep?” Robb asked her in an amused tone.

“Only if I in turn can insist you accompany me to the nursery,” she smiled up at him.

“Gladly,” he responded, leaning in and capturing her lips.

Her smile was even wider when he pulled away, and it was infectious, tugging on his own lips in the next moment. She allowed him to lead her away then, her hand still clasped in his as they made their way across the ramparts and down the steps into the courtyard. The guards opened the doors again for them as they approached and again they voiced their thanks as they walked into the entrance hall and made for the main stairs. They ambled happily towards the nursery, Myrcella insistent that he fill her in on all the news she had missed in the last few weeks as they made their way there. She was particularly pleased to hear that Ada’s eldest boys were enjoying their time in the tiltyard with Arya.

They lowered their voices as they came upon the nursery, aware that Ned may well be sleeping. As they entered Robb sent a smile to Jan, who appeared to be alone. Likely Etta was on some errand or other for Myrcella. He knew his wife trusted her old handmaiden more than any other attendant she had here at Winterfell, and he knew he had made the right decision to write to Tommen and ask him to have her sent here.

“Where is Etta?” Myrcella enquired as she let go of his hand and approached the cradle.

“She went to the seamstress to enquire about new swaddling,” Jan reported. “The little prince is growing so swiftly he will soon need larger cloths.”

“The Maester is most pleased with him,” Myrcella’s response was almost a coo as she leant over the cradle. From her action Robb could only assume their son was awake, and so he moved closer himself. Ned was indeed awake, and inquisitive look on his face as he kicked at his blankets.

“Will your Graces be staying a while?” Jan asked.

“Yes, I imagine so, I always hate to leave when he’s awake,” Myrcella answered.

“Then I will take the laundry down to the kitchens, with your permission?” Jan responded.

“Yes, of course,” Myrcella smiled, and Jan moved to pick up the basket and Robb moved to open the door for her. She thanked him as she passed through, bobbing into a little curtsey on her way through. He closed the door behind her and approached Myrcella again, placing his hand on the small of her back as they both gazed down into the cradle.

“I swear he looks more like you every day,” she commented, and he couldn’t help but grin. It was true, he could not deny it. Ned was his very image, his hair the exact shade and now his eyes too gaining his colouring. “Such a handsome boy,” Myrcella cooed, her fingers stroking down the back of one of his little hands.

“I cannot help but take that as a compliment to myself,” Robb said teasingly, and she laughed.

“Yes, you are most handsome, my dear husband,” she returned in a similar tone.

It was his turn to chuckle at that, his smile widening as he watched Ned grip onto one of Myrcella’s fingers. “That’s quite a grip he has there,” he commented, his own hand coming to settle lightly on top of his son’s head for a moment.

“Strong indeed,” Myrcella agreed with him proudly.

“He will be grasping a sword in no time,” he continued.

“I can only hope he will never have to use one as much as his father did,” she said seriously.

“So do I,” he agreed. “I like to think I fought all those wars so he would not have to.”

“Quite,” Myrcella said happily, smiling at him for a moment before returning her attention to Ned.

“I expect we will be expected to visit the Capital soon,” he commented, watching her reaction carefully and seeing her stiffen. “I thought you would want to go, to see Tommen again,” he said gently, rubbing her back lightly. “And,” it pained him to say it, “and your uncles.”

“Tyrion will be at the Rock,” she said, her tone almost cold.

“The Kin – Jaime,” he corrected himself quickly, “will be there though, won’t he.”

“Yes, and so will my mother,” there was definitely ice in her tone now.

“Myrcella, look at me,” he coaxed gently. She obeyed him after a moment, and he determinedly met her eyes. “Your mother cannot harm us. For one thing, your grandfather is there, and he may not like me but he knows damn well that he’d have another war on his hands should anything befall me at the Capital. Your mother may hate me, but she would have to be mad indeed to think to touch me. Please don’t worry, just think how pleased you will be to see your brother once more. Perhaps you could even put it to him that he might visit Winterfell when summer truly begins?”

“Yes,” she nodded, her smile looking slightly forced. “Yes, that’s a wonderful idea, thank you.”

“There is no need to thank me,” he smiled back. “I would do anything to ensure your happiness, anything at all.”

* * *

Robb found himself in his study a few days later. He would rather we cosied up in his chambers with Myrcella and Ned but he had been neglecting his correspondence since the birth of his son and Myrcella’s illness and could not put it off any longer. While news had been sent to the Capital – his mother had seen to that – he still had to send the announcement of his son’s birth to his own lords here in the North and those in the Riverlands. He also wanted to write to Jon, it had been far too long since he had written him a proper letter, and also to Theon. His mood was so joyous that he did not find the endless writing tedious. He was also getting it into his head that he might throw a tourney when all the snows melted. A celebration of the new prince, and hope for a long summer.

He pondered it as he wrote his letters, so absorbed in his task that he didn’t hear his mother enter the room until she spoke up. “I do not think I have seen you this happy in a long time,” her tone was amused, though he jumped slightly on hearing her. “Perhaps ever,” she continued, a broad smile on her face that crinkled her eyes.

“I cannot think of much that has ever made me this happy,” he agreed with her.

“Do you have time to share a drink with your mother?” she asked him. “Or have you too much work to do?”

“I am never too busy to share a drink with you, mother,” he smiled easily, and she crossed to the side table to pour them both a drink of wine as he finished the letter he was working on. He was stamping the seals when she approached, placing the glasses down before taking the seat on the opposite side of the desk.

He watched her for a moment when he set his letter aside, seeing her gazing in an almost wistful manner around the room. “It’s almost as though he has just left for a moment, isn’t it?” he said softly as he watched her. She smiled, nodding her head, and he could see the tears welling in her eyes. 

“It’s hard to believe it has been so many years,” she sighed.

“I know,” he agreed softly, reaching out and picking up his glass. “To father,” he said simply, raising it to her.

“To Ned,” his mother almost whispered, knocking her glass against his before taking a long drink. “Now,” she said almost briskly when she lowered her glass. “I did not come here to speak of the past – how is Myrcella? I wish I could have visited her more but there has been so much to do.”

“She is perfectly well again, thank the Gods,” Robb told her, unable to disguise the relief in his voice. “And she asked me to thank you for taking on her duties, and I must thank you for trying to keep up with mine as well. I promise, things will go back to normal now, so you will have far more time to visit your grandson.”

“Thank you, Robb,” she said sincerely. “I do hope we will soon see Sansa as well.”

“That would be most welcome,” he agreed with her, thinking of how much his nieces had likely grown since they had last visited. “Though I am soon expecting an invitation from the Capital.”

“Yes,” her expression darkened. “Yes, I imagine you will. How do you feel about it?”

“I feel I have precious little choice,” he confessed. “It has been many years since I stepped foot in the place, and I have had winter as an excuse. Now, though…well, I do not relish the thought, but at least I know that I’ll have Myrcella at my side when I return.”

“And how does she feel about it?” his mother asked, concern etched on her features.

“She’s wary,” he didn’t see the point in lying, his mother could always tell. “Of her mother, more than anything, but she is glad to know she will see her brother again.”

“Oh, the things I would say to Cersei Lannister given the chance,” nothing made his mother sound so venomous than talk of Cersei. “Especially now, knowing what she has done to that poor, sweet girl. A woman like that does not deserve such beautiful children as Tommen and Myrcella.”

“No,” Robb agreed, taking a long drink from his own glass.

“Will you take Ned?” his mother asked.

“We must,” Robb replied. “It will be expected. Besides, I cannot imagine Myrcella would want to be parted from him for so long, and if I am honest, neither do I.”

“I can understand that,” her eyes were soft on his. “Your father only ever mentioned you being fostered elsewhere once, I would not hear of it. If I’m honest, I think he was hoping I would refuse. I know he was stern, and tough at times, but he _loved_ you, he loved you all.”

“I know,” Robb nodded. “I only hope I can be to my son what he was to me.”

“You will be a wonderful father, you already are,” his mother assured him.

“Thank you, mother,” he told her sincerely.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to speak to you about,” she said after a long moment, looking slightly wary. “It didn’t seem like the right time before, but now that Myrcella is better and Ned is thriving…”

“What is it, mother?” he asked, amused despite himself.

“It’s Arya,” she began, “and these plans you are considering for her. I wonder…do you really think that now is the best time for her to be married? What with everything that’s happened…it’s just…do you not think you and Myrcella should make a real peace with her before she has to go elsewhere?”

“Do you not think she might be happier elsewhere?” he asked in turn.

“She’s not as strong as she appears to be,” she implored. “And she is thriving here, especially now she is training those boys. If she is sent away to be married then she will have to give that up.”

“Perhaps,” he sighed heavily, his mother had a point. “But…mother, you know it is passed time that she was married – the lords mention it at every council we have. With Bran unable to have children and Sansa only having daughters so far -”

“But you have a son now!” his mother cut in. “And you are forgetting Rickon. You have plenty heirs at your disposal, Robb, without pushing Arya into a marriage before she is ready. Please, Robb, she is regaining her happiness and in time I think she and Myrcella could be truly friendly with one another again. Please, just hold off for a while longer, I beg you.”

“Very well,” he sighed in defeat, “but when it gets to the point that Rickon is ready to be married then you know I will not be able to put it off any longer. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes, and when that day comes I will support you entirely,” she promised him. “But in the meantime I just want Arya to be truly settled here, she deserves that, you all do.”

“I know she does,” Robb agreed, “and she will be, I promise.”

* * *

“So, Arya is no longer to be married,” Myrcella raised her brows at him as they lay facing one another, Ned between them gurgling happily and waving his limbs around, clearly elated to be free of his swaddling for a while.

“She will be,” Robb corrected her. “It is only put off, perhaps for another year or so.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Myrcella sighed, tickling at Ned’s tummy. “She may be of an age to marry, but…I don’t know, she just doesn’t seem ready for it. It isn’t what she wants.”

“No,” Robb agreed, watching her with a slight frown on his face. “But…well, I don’t suppose you were ready either, I don’t suppose it was what you wanted.”

“Not at first, perhaps,” she agreed with him. “But my apprehension was not lasting. I suppose all girls feel nervous before such a great change in their lives, but some handle it better than others.”

“And you don’t suppose Arya would handle it well at all?” he guessed.

“Do you?” she countered, and he smiled slightly.

“No, I suppose not,” he said. “Arya is so stubborn that she would likely hate her marriage whether it was happy or not, just to spite me.”

“She adores you really,” Myrcella soothed him.

“I’ve disappointed her, though,” he sighed.

“It happens,” she said. “It is as you said the other day, you can never please everyone all of the time.”

“You use my own words against me, wife,” he mock scolded her and she smiled.

“Just reminding you of your own wisdom, husband,” she returned teasingly.

He smiled in response, watching her intently as she turned her attention back to their son. There was nothing he enjoyed more than watching them together. Sometimes he let himself into their rooms so quietly that she wouldn’t hear him. He could watch them together then, wonder over the adoration on Myrcella’s face as she completely absorbed herself in their baby. She was a wonderful mother, and more than ever he could not believe that she had ever been worried that she would be awful, as he mother had been. More so, he could not believe that he had ever feared that she would be a younger version of Cersei, sent to him to make his life a misery.

“You’re staring,” she said in an amused tone, without looking up.

“I can’t help it,” he returned, unabashed. “Myrcella?”

“Yes?” she asked, attention back on him now.

“Are you settled here?” he asked, thinking about what his mother had said about Arya.

“Of course,” she looked utterly bewildered at his question. “Why would you ask that?”

“I just wanted to be sure,” he said.

“We may not have had a perfect start, Robb Stark, but I would not wish to be anywhere else in the world,” she assured him. “Winterfell is my home now, and I love being here. I love you. I love your family, and I love the family we have started. Of course I’m settled, don’t ever let me hear you ask such a ridiculous question again. 

“Forgive me,” he grinned. “I suppose that sometimes I cannot believe our luck.”

“Believe it,” she said firmly. “We’re happy, Robb, and I will let nothing spoil our happiness. Nothing.”

 


	37. Interlude: Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all your comments, you're all so lovely.
> 
> Sorry that this is a shorter chapter, but we're just diving to the Capital for a quick snippet. Normal length will resume next time around!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> :)

 

* * *

_Cersei_

* * *

 

She knew why she had been summoned. Jaime was there too when she entered. There was little she had to say to him these days, not since he had betrayed her. She glowered at him. Without him she would have her daughter back here and safe by now. Without him Tommen would be the ruler of Westeros in its entirety, instead of him being denied two of his rightful kingdoms. Thankfully they were joined in the parlour before Jaime had a chance to speak to her. Her father and Tommen entered together, clearly having returned from council. She quashed the urge to scowl, still despising the fact that she was no longer invited to their meetings.

“Jaime, Cersei,” her father greeted curtly, taking a seat to the immediate right to Tommen, who seated himself at the head of the table. “Wine!” he called to the serving girl, and she came forward immediately, pouring each of them a healthy measure.

“I suppose there has been some news,” Jaime raised a brow, reclining easily in his chair.

“Indeed, Tommen?” their father turned to her son.

“From Winterfell, most joyous news,” Tommen smiled heartily. He looked genuinely thrilled, if only he knew what his sister must be suffering. “Myrcella has delivered a healthy prince, and her own health remains well.”

“Wonderful,” Cersei said, forcing a smile.

“And does this prince have a name?” Jaime asked.

“Eddard Stark,” Tommen said, and Cersei could no longer keep the false smile on her face.

“Now spring has arrived we will of course extend an invitation to the King and Queen in the North to visit us here in the Capital,” her father spoke calmly. “There will be coin set aside for a modest tourney, to celebrate the thaw and of course to show the people that the alliance between the North and the southern kingdoms is as strong and secure as ever. This new prince seals it, ensuring a king with Lannister blood will succeed his father.”

“Though, we pray not for many years,” Tommen added, tactfully.

“Quite, for Myrcella’s sake as much as anything else,” Jaime agreed, shooting her a dark look.

“Of course,” she forced another smile.

Talk then turned to details of the tourney. She barely listened, mind elsewhere entirely. Really, she ought to be happier. Robb Stark would soon be in the Capital, and so would her daughter. She wondered if they would bring the child as well. It wouldn’t matter either way, they would not be returning north. Robb Stark would not last until the end of the tourney, and Myrcella would of course, naturally, want to remain with her family after such a _tragedy._ She didn’t suppose it would be difficult – Stark would be bound to compete, he was still young after all. All she needed was to find the right opponent, and slip them enough coin. A simple, tragic, accident. Perhaps it was better that Jaime had failed her, this way was far neater, there was no way it could ever be pinned on her.

The simplicity of it all almost made her smile, but she kept it masked. She couldn’t allow Jaime to become suspicious of her again, he already kept an irritatingly close eye on her. It would complicate her making her arrangements but it would not be impossible. When preparations began Jaime would no doubt be expected to aid in them – if Tommen were to head out to the tourney ground to survey it then Jaime, as head of his Kingsguard, would be obligated to accompany him. Yes, soon enough she would find the time to give him the slip and plan her own spectacle for the tourney.

“Well, we will discuss further plans when we receive a response to the invitation,” Tommen pulled her back from her thoughts. “No doubt they will accept, though it will take at least a moon for them to travel here, especially if they bring the prince. We will begin preparations then, now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my queen – she has been feeling rather delicate due to her condition and I would make sure she is well tended.”

“Of course, your Grace, you must send the queen our regards and sympathies,” her father said.

“I hope she feels better soon,” Cersei smiled, voice dripping with sweetness.

“I will accompany you, your Grace,” Jaime rose as Tommen did. “Father, sister,” he inclined his head to each of them in turn before following Tommen from the door. Only when it closed behind them did her father speak again.

“Well, it has taken many years, but finally my plan has come to fruition,” he sounded satisfied.

“You mean your plan to sell my daughter to that savage,” she spat, she had never forgiven him.

“Oh, Cersei,” he chuckled. “After all these years I would have thought you would have finally realised that this was the best thing for our family. The Northern kings may always bear the name Stark but from now they will always have Lannister blood in their veins, thanks to Myrcella. She has done her duty well, you ought to be proud.”

“Proud?!” she stared at him incredulously. “How could I be?! How can you be?! Do you have any idea what that savage is subjecting her to?! What she must be suffering?! Do you not care at all for your only granddaughter?!”

“Of course I care,” he returned sharply. “I’ll have you know I take a great interest in her well-being, and I have been assured of it on numerous occasions by the king, as he receives regular correspondence from her, and from Stark. I notice, that you cannot boast the same, Cersei, I wonder why that might be?”

“The correspondence I have with my daughter is private,” she hissed at him.

“Oh, Cersei,” he chuckled without humour. “Nothing here is private from me, you ought to remember that before you think of doing anything foolish.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, to keep her features still as her heart pounded furiously in her chest.

“Did you really think I would not get it out of Jaime where he really went when he was supposedly reconsidering his future?” all pretence was gone now, her father fixing her with a dark look. “By all accounts it appears that Myrcella was rather angered by your presumption that she was being mistreated, not that I can blame her. Even think of pulling a stunt like that again, Cersei, and you will be banished to the Rock for the rest of your days, and believe me, I will ensure that you have no friends there. I’m sure Tyrion will be more than happy to keep you under close watch.”

“You have no right to threaten me in such a manner – you do not have the authority to send me anywhere,” she snarled.

“Perhaps not,” he didn’t falter. “But Tommen does, and he would. He is not Joffrey, Cersei, he has a good head on his shoulders and should you even think to do something to jeopardise the peace of the kingdoms he will ensure you can no longer be in any position to influence anything.”

“Do you not think it would be better for Tommen to be king of a united Westeros?” she changed tact.

“In an ideal world, perhaps, but it is not to be,” he returned dismissively.

“And why could it not be?!” she pressed.

“If Robb Stark were to die –” he began.

“Then Myrcella would be regent!” she interrupted, face flushing. “Don’t you see?! She could give up the throne in her son’s name.”

“And you think the Northern lords would just allow that?” he was laughing properly now. “They would depose her in a moment, and take control of the child themselves. No, Robb Stark must live, and Myrcella must bear him more sons. You ought to know that a queen needs more than one son to secure the succession. When Stark dies I want him succeeded by a king who has been raised with his mother’s influence, as well as his father’s. If that happens too prematurely then Myrcella will have no say in his future – the boy will be brought up under the influence of the Northern lords, raised to be their puppet. That, I cannot allow. So, whatever you have planned, Cersei, forget it.”

“But -” she tried once more.

“Forget it,” he snapped formidably. “This is my final word, Cersei – I suggest you heed it.”


End file.
